








library 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



















/ 




























t 













ESSAYS 


ON 



SUBJECTS 



BY J. BIGLAND, 

A 


Author of Reflections on the Resurrection and Ascension of Christ;—Letters 
on the Study and Use of Ancient and Modern HistoryHistory of 
SpainHistory of Europe, &c. &c. 




Edition: 

o 

SOLD BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER> 
ROW; AND BY W. SHEARDOWN, DONCASTER, 



I 


















V 






W. ^heardown. Printer, 
High-Street, Doncaster. 


« 




BIGLAND’S 

ESSAYS. 


2cl. Edition. 













ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 


Extracts from Reviews respecting thefirst edition 



11 We should be ungrateful to this Author, if we did not 
state that, in travelling through his volumes, we found our 
journey pleasant; and that the various sound principles, 
excellent views, and good sense which embellish his pages 
made us feel regret when we reached its termination.”— 
Monthly Review for July 1807. 

Mr. Aikin, in his Annual Review, after speaking of the 
points in which Essayists are the most liable to fail, says, 
“ These remarks, however, have been only incidentally 
suggested by the observations of Mr. Bigland’s Preface, and 
have no peculiar application to his own performances, which 
certainly possess intrinsic merit, and will atford entertain¬ 
ment and instruction to a numerous class of readers.” 

“ These Essays are, on the whole, marked by a philoso¬ 
phical and unprejudiced spirit of investigation on all sub¬ 
jects, and more especially by just observations on human 
life and manners, neither trite and trivial on the one hand, 
nor on the other romantic and paradoxical. he style is 
easy and elegant .”—Aikiris Annual Review for 1805. 


% A 








- 




















. 















. 

. 

*> * « 


















' 





* ■ I . 

. 





*»» 

* 

.. 

... 


> 














• ■ ■ 

■ 11 

a 
















- - . 

. 























PREFACE, 




f|l 

JL HE writing of miscellaneous pieces has 
been sanctioned by the examples of authors 
of deserved celebrity, and has exercised the 
talents of a Franklin, a Shenstone, a Knox, 
and many others, with whose elegant com¬ 
positions I have not the arrogance to place my 
feeble productions in the scale of comparison. 
Of the multitude of performances of this kind 
presented to the public, the greatest part, how¬ 
ever, have been favourably received. This 
species of w riting, indeed, is always new, and 
its materials are never exhausted; for among 
the variety of subjects of observation and 
inquiry which daily offer themselves to the 
contemplative and inquisitive mind, some- 
liiing may always be found to which the 
reader had not before directed his attention, 
or which he has not seen exhibited in the 
same light, nor painted in the same colours. 
Sometimes he perceives his own ideas de¬ 
lineated, at other times new ones present 
themselves which he examines, appreciates, 
adopts, or rejects. This affords to the mind 

a 






11 


PREFACE. 


exercise and entertainment. The reader sits 
as judge deciding on the justness or the in¬ 
accuracy of the observations, and on the truth 
or fallacy of the arguments. If these meet 
with his approbation, it gives him pleasure to 
see his own opinions justified and confirmed, 
if they incur his censure, he still finds his 
mind invigorated and expanded by the col¬ 
lision of his thoughts with those of the 
author. 

One reason, perhaps, which is peculiarly 
adapted to render works of this kind pleasing 
to a great number of readers is, that a variety 
of subjects being concisely treated, the mind 
is not fatigued by directing its attention too 
long towards one point. This necessary 
brevity also affords to the reader an opportu¬ 
nity of making additional reflections, and 
always leaves him something to discover, 
which is not the case when the subject is pur¬ 
sued to its last ramifications. 

In regard to the essays now offered to the 
public, they have, for the most part, been 
suggested at different times and on different 
occasions by the casual observation of various 
circumstances, or the examination of acci¬ 
dental topics of conversation and points of 
discussion. Some of the subjects may, per¬ 
haps, at the first view, appear trifling, but. 


PREFACE. 


111 

after a little reflection, they will probably 
exhibit themselves in a more important point 
of view. Those of toleration, the propriety 
of a national religion, the diversity of religious 
opinions, on education, and several others, 
must be deemed of great importance as re- 
lating both to the history and philosophy of 
the human mind, and to the organization of 
civilized society. The thoughts on popular 
superstitions may be considered by some as 
carried to a prolixity somewhat too diffuse; 
but whoever has long and attentively observed 
their general prevalence, their extensive in¬ 
fluence, and their disagreeable and sometimes 
disastrous effects, of which some recent in¬ 
stances are unfortunately too notorious, will 
be convinced that the subject would merit a 
volume rather than an essay. The ablest pen 
could not be better employed than in com¬ 
bating and endeavouring to remove this 
mental degradation, nor could a more essential 
service be rendered to the juvenile part of 
mankind, whose ideas are generally vitiated 
and tinctured with superstition in early 
youth, and form themselves into monstrous 
and absurd associations which often remain 
unrectified in their riper years. 

The Essay on a town and country life was 
designed for the two-fold purpose of rectifying 


a a 


iv 


PREFACE. 


the notions of those who, being totally unac¬ 
quainted with the latter, form an ideal picture 
of it from illusory representation; and of 
ridiculing, and, if possible, eradicating that 
general propensity to scandal ever observable 
where social intercourse is contracted, and the 
mind but slightly cultivated. Detraction, 
whether considered as contrary to Christian 
benevolence, or estimated by the standard of 
Pagan morality, is one of the most detestable 
as well as most common vices of society. 
The old and the young, the serious and the 
gay, find a malignant pleasure in examining 
and exposing the conduct of their neighbours, 
while they neglect to reform their own, 
asperse the most virtuous characters merely 
for their own amusement, and often without 
any deliberate evil intention, through mere 
thoughtlessness, give stabs almost as fatal as 
those of the assassin’s dagger. This subject 
would certainly be worthy of an abler pen; 
for if we must give an account of every word 
that is merely idle, how shall we answer for 
those that have the most mischievous ten¬ 
dency, and are often productive of the most 
disastrous effects. 

In every literary performance, on whatever 
subject it may be, the rising generation is an 
object of which we ought never to lose sight. 




PREFACE. 


V 

Those who are advanced in years, must, in a 

short time, make their exit from the stage, 

and those who are in the meridian of life will 

soon follow them in the same road. The 

younger class of readers have their parts yet 

to begin, and perhaps to act for a considerable 

length of time; and on the tone of their 

minds, the future happiness or misery of the 

world in a great measure depends. As those 

essays are in part intended for their use, 

care has been taken not to introduce any 

«/ 

subject or use any expression that might tend 
to vitiate juvenile ideas. 



CONTENTS. 


?AGE 

ESSAY I. 

On the Universal Pursuit of Happiness J 

ESSAY II. 

On the Absurdities of Moral Writers...12 


ESSAY III. 

On the Consolations of Religion in Temporal Difficulties .... 21 

ESSAY IV. 


On National Establishments in Religion.33 

ESSAY V. 

On Universal Liberty of Conscience.63 

ESSAY VI. 

On Ecclesiastical Emoluments...79 


ESSAY VII. 

On the Cause of the Diversity of Religious Opinions, and the In¬ 
ducement it affords to mutual Toleration and universal Charity 94 

ESSAY VIII. 


On Education.106 

ESSAY IX. 

On the same.121 

ESSAY X. 

On Popular Superstitions.140 


ESSAY XI. 


On Omens 


158 











CONTENTS 


♦ \ii 

PAGK 

ESSAY XII. 

On Ghosts and Apparitions.. 

ESSAY XIII. 

On the same. 175 

ESSAY XIV. 

On the same. 195 

ESSAY XV. 

On the Arts of Sorcery, &c .206 

ESSAY XVI. 

On the Estimation of Characters and their Modification by Cir¬ 
cumstances . 213 

ESSAY XVII. 

On the same.232 

ESSAY XVIII. 

On the Knowledge of Mankind. 246 

ESSAY XIX. 

On Friendship. 2G4 

ESSAY XX. 

On Company, Solitude, and Retirement.282 

ESSAY XXI. 

On Industry and Genius ..292 

ESSAY XXII. 

On the Passion for Posthumous Fame.29? 

1 ■ 

ESSAY XXIII . 

On the right ordering of the Mind ..314 

ESSAY XXIV. 

% 

On religious Melancholy.327 

ESSAY XXV. 

On the Formation and Combination of Ideas .......... 33? 
















CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ESSAY XXVI. 

On the Advantages of a well-cultivated Mind.358 

ESSAY XXVII. 

On Exercise...365 

ESSAY XXVIII. 

On a City and a Country Life. 374r 

ESSAY XXIX. 

On Emigration and Colonization.458 

ESSAY XXX. 

On the Advantages resulting from the Use of Letters.469 

ESSAY XXXI. 

On the Construction of Language and the Diversity of Style . . 480 

ESSAY XXXII. 

On the frequent Absurdity of Human Prayers. 494 

ESSAY XXXIII. 

On Optimism.502 

ESSAY XXXIV. 

On the Manner in which near and remote Expectations operate 
on the Mind. 511 











ESSAYS 


ON 

VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

ESSAY I. 

ON THE UNIVERSAL PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. 

Happiness, real or imaginary, ever lias 
been, and ever will be, the grand and indeed 
the only object of human pursuit; for what¬ 
ever purpose we endeavour to accomplish, 
whatever good we wish to acquire, the eager¬ 
ness of desire is always proportioned to the 
addition that we suppose the accomplishment 
or the acquisition will make to the measure 
of our felicity. 

This universal pursuit after happiness, 
variously directed and infinitely diversified 
according to the difference of inclinations, 
circumstances, opportunities and prospects, 
is the grand stimulus of human action. It is 
implanted in human nature, and exhibits a 
luminous view of the plan of Divine Pro¬ 
vidence. For the attainment or the increase 

B 


2 


of happiness, the hnsbandman cultivates the 
ground, the mariner crosses the trackless 
ocean, the merchant engages in commercial 
speculations, the soldier hazards his life in 
I lie field of battle: in all countries, in all 
ages, in every rank of society, and in every 
situation, men are continually employed in 
striving to procure some real or fancied good, 
or to avoid some real or imaginary evil. 

If we consider the precarious tenure, and 
at the best, the short lived nature of the 
objects of human pursuit, we shall be inclined 
to wonder that rational beings can be so 
intent on such unsubstantial acquisitions. It 
has seldom been found that when attained, 
they have given the satisfaction expected to 
result from enjoyment, or corresponded with 
the ideas they had excited in the mind. 
Riches are almost the universal object of 
pursuit among all ranks of people; but, if 
we compare experience with expectation, and 
carefully distinguish between idea and reality, 
we shall perceive that they are seldom found 
to confer happiness ; and that the labour of 
acquisition is scarcely ever compensated by 
the pleasure of enjoyment. Poverty is the 
universal object of dread and dislike, and 
the evil which men endeavour the most 
assiduously to avoid; but the labours and 


3 


hardships which they frequently undergo in 
their efforts for this purpose, are often greater 
than all the calamities which indigence could 
produce. Riches, it must however be con¬ 
fessed, although not to be considered as a 
positive good, afford the means of procuring 
a multiplicity of advantages and real com¬ 
forts. Magnificent palaces, splendid equi¬ 
pages, the possession of an extensive and 
select library, the conversation of the learned* 
the elegant productions of the polite arts; all 
these comforts of life lie within the reach of 
the man of opulence. In seasons of sick¬ 
ness and languor, and in the debility of old 
age, he can readily procure all the comfort 
and support that human assistance is able to 
give. At all times, and on a thousand oc¬ 
casions, he may experience the supreme de¬ 
light of relieving the poor and distressed. 
He can be a father to the orphan and a friend 
to the friendless. The man who possesses 
wealth, if his mind be turned to acts of 
beneficence, can scarcely w alk in the streets 
without meeting with opportunities of re¬ 
lieving helpless indigence, of removing the 
effects of misfortune, and of raising the droop¬ 
ing head of despondency. He can scarcely 
go out of his doors without finding it in his 
pow er to enjoy the greatest of all pleasures, 

B 2 


4 




the pleasure of doing good. Riches, when 
considered in this light, and used in this 
manner, are certainly a great blessing. They 
afford the means of avoiding innumerable 
evils and of procuring a vast assemblage of 
pleasures, and must be a source of satisfaction 
to a mind qualified for the enjoyment of the 
gifts of fortune. A number of circumstances, 
both physical and moral, must, however, 
concur to render a man happy in the pos¬ 
session of wealth even when acquired by in¬ 
heritance. A sound constitution and a com¬ 
petent share of health, a taste for literature 
and the polite arts, a beneficent disposition 
and feeling mind, must all combine to give a 
relish to the enjoyment of riches. Daily ex¬ 
perience shows, that a very great number of 
those who are possessed of affluence, are 
totally unqualified for the enjoyment of that 
happiness, which might be expected from 
such accumulated means of procuring a 
variety of pleasures; and our observations 
need not be very extensive to enable us to 
perceive, that those who possess the most 
ample fortunes do not always enjoy the 
greatest portion of felicity, even when health 
and strength concur to give a zest to the 
blessings of life. The remark may be carried 
yet farther, and it may, with truth be asserted, 


5 


that many who possess great riches without 
labouring under any constitutional distemper, 
either of body or mind, are notwithstanding 
extremely miserable, more so even than many 
thousands of those whose daily food is earned 
by daily toil. This is a moral phenomenon 
frequently exhibited in human life, and a 
little observation will enable us to trace it to 
its original source. When no physical cause 
exists to frustrate the expectations which 
affluence may naturally excite, the disap¬ 
pointment must proceed from causes of a 
moral nature, of which the effects may some¬ 
times be unavoidable, but more frequently 
may be prevented. Domestic misfortunes 
happen to persons in the highest as well as 
the lowest stations, and in the midst of 
affluence frequently embitter the cup of life. 
David, when he experienced the ingratitude 
and treason of his beloved son, forgot that he 
was King of Israel ; royalty had in that 
moment no charms to sooth his afflicted mind. 
Augustus, in reflecting on the disgraceful 
conduct of his daughter Julia, experienced 
sorrows which the pleasure of wearing the im¬ 
perial purple could not counterbalance. And 
Henry I. of England, is said to have never 
smiled after the loss of his only son and heir 
apparent, in his passage across the channel 

b 3 


0 


in returning from France. In perusing the 
annals of the world, we find, that a very great 
number of persons, whose names and achieve¬ 
ments are the most celebrated, and the pros¬ 
perity of whose public concerns fill some of 
the most brilliant pages of history, have been 
eminently unfortunate in their domestic 
affairs. Many who seemed to be placed on 
the summit of human prosperity and great¬ 
ness, have seen the cup of felicity dashed 
from their lips by the sudden stroke of un¬ 
avoidable misfortune. The instances of this 
kind, which the history of human life affords, 
are too numerous to particularize, and all 
concur to prove, that happiness is not attached 
to any thing of a temporal nature. 

But besides those signal and striking mis¬ 
fortunes of the great, which in every age have 
furnished ample matter for the tragic muse, 
our daily observations will afford a thousand 
instances of the infelicity of persons possessed 
of affluence, w ho, w ithout experiencing any 
of those heavy calamities w hich are unavoid¬ 
ably subversive of all earthly happiness, are 
extremely miserable. This phenomenon in 
society generally originates from the multipli¬ 
cation of our wants, and the extension of our 

wishes by the accumulation of wealth. If 

* 

our desires w ere always justly regulated and 


7 




proportioned to the extent of our means of 
gratification, this inconvenience would not so 
freq uently accompany increased acquisition ; 
but when they are extended beyond those 
limits this consequence is obvious and un¬ 
avoidable. Wants are multiplied faster than 
our means of supply, and affluence degene¬ 
rates into real indigence; for poverty consists 
in nothing else but an inability of supplying 
our natural or artificial wants. This kind 
of mismanagement often reduces the man of 
opulence to a level with his indigent neigh¬ 
bour. Sometimes it depresses him below that 
level, and causes the share of happiness to pre¬ 
ponderate on the side of poverty ; for the 
labouring peasant, who is contented with his 
scanty and hard-earned meal, proportioning 
his desires to his means of gratification, is 
certainly a richer man than he who possessing 
many things still wants many more which he 
cannot obtain. The man who is fully satis¬ 
fied with his homely cottage, his mean furni¬ 
ture, and his scanty table decorated with 
fewer and meaner dishes than that of his 
opulent neighbour, is undoubtedly richer 
than he who possessing a magnificent palace, 
a splendid equipage, and a richly garnished 
table, yet has the mortification of seeing 
himself surpassed in some or all of these par- 

b 4 



8 


ticulars ; and aiming still at something above 
his present sphere, is involved in factitious 
difficulties, oppressed with artificial wants, 
and pines with desires, which he is destitute 
of the means of gratifying. The seat of 
happiness is in the mind ; external things 
may nourish it, but cannot give it existence. 
Unhappily, however, it is too commonly made 
to depend on adventitious circumstances, im¬ 
perfect in their nature, as well as precarious 
in regard to their continuance. The mind 
seldom rests satisfied with present enjoyment, 
but incessantly creates new objects of desire, 
and amuses itself with prospects of increased 
felicity. 

This propensity of the human mind is so 
general, that we find few exceptions in the 
wide circle of society. From the poorest to 
the most opulent, few individuals can be 
found, who do not desire a higher station 
than that in which they are placed, some 
acquisition which they have not yet made, or 
some pleasure which they do not yet enjoy, 
There are, indeed, some who profess a perfect 
acquiescence in their present condition, and 
seem to indicate no desire to extend their 
circle of action, or enjoyment, or to move in 
any higher sphere. Some may, perhaps, have 
this apathy of mind from nature, or from 





9 


long and confirmed habits ; but even this is 
extremely problematical. Those who seem 
to rest perfectly satisfied with their con¬ 
dition, without endeavouring to advance one 
step beyond the circle in which they move, 
are generally deterred by the difficulty of the 
attempt, the apparent improbability of suc¬ 
cess, or the experience of disappointed trial; 
and therefore, often fortunately for them¬ 
selves, esteeming the labour and hazard of 
acquisition more than a counterpoise for the 
possession, make a virtue of necessity, and 
remain in their situation with an apparent 
acquiescence that grows into a habit, and 
thus enjoy a degree of happiness, which 
others, of a more enterprising genius and a 
more volatile disposition, often fail of ac¬ 
quiring by the greatest exertions and the most 
perilous attempts. 

Notwithstanding the difficulties and dan¬ 
gers into which individuals often plunge 
themselves by aspiring projects, this restless 
spirit of enterprise in man is productive of 
incalculable advantages, in regard to the 
species, and affords a signal display of the 
comprehensiveness of the plans of Divine 
Providence, whose unerring wisdom has fixed 
in the human mind such a stimulus to ex¬ 
ertion, and offered to its contemplation such 


10 


% 


incentives to arduous undertakings. 1 lie 
wants and the wishes of mankind are the 
impulsive springs which put genius and in¬ 
dustry in motion, direct the multifarious 
operations of the moral world, and produce 
all this variety of scenes which successively 
diversifies its aspect. By their influence, the 
operations of the mind are directed to every 
object that promises, or can procure, the 
amelioration of human circumstances. By 
the exertions of men in the pursuit of real or 
fancied good, the seas are rendered passable, 
and distant countries accessible; the remotest 
parts of the globe are explored, rivers are 
converted into channels of communication, 
the earth is cultivated and covered with cities, 
towns, and villages; arts, sciences and litera¬ 
ture are invented and brought to perfection, 
political societies formed and regulated, law s 
enacted, and mankind civilized. All these 
great effects are produced by the impulse of 
passion, directed by reason. Man is here 
below the agent of the deity, the instrument 
of his providence; all his exertions are no 
more than means made use of by the Supreme 
Ruler of the universe, in the execution of his 
great plan, formed by infinite wisdom, exe¬ 
cuted by infinite power, and calculated for 
the production of uni versal good. 


11 


Nothing could exhibit a more dreary and 
melancholy spectacle than this globe on which 
we are placed, had not the all-w ise Creator, in 
forming man, endow ed him with this enter¬ 
prising spirit of speculation and of action, 
and displayed to his view objects to excite 
his desires and animate his exertions; nor 
could any condition be more deplorable than 
that of the human species, if men had not been 
incessantly actuated by the desire of its ame¬ 
lioration. Philosophers have often expatiated 
on the happiness of a state of nature, and 
amused us with elaborate discourses and 
flourishing harangues on the evils introduced 
into the w orld by civilization, refinement, and 
luxury; but let us contemplate the whole 
system of the moral world, and examine the 
complicated mechanism of society, and we 
shall see that what they call luxury is that 
which stimulates industry, forms the basis of 
commerce, changes the face of the earth from a 
dreary w aste into a terrestrial paradise, and 
improves all the facidties of the human mind. 


12 


ESSAY II. 

ON THE ABSURDITIES OF MORAL WRITERS . 


j^LS it is inconsistent with the order of things, 
that the gifts of fortune should be distributed 
in equal portions to all; as affluence, ease, and 
pleasure, can fall to the lot of only a small 
number of individuals; and by far the greatest 
part of the human species must lead a life of 
toil and labour, in the midst of poverty and 
in the gloom of obscurity ; it appears to have 
been the design of a number of moral philoso¬ 
phers to reconcile the great bulk of mankind 
to their condition, by delineating a disguised 
and fallacious picture of the good and ev il of 
life.* 

• r r 

To see a philosopher who is possessed of 
affluence, or at least blessed with a com¬ 
fortable competency, writing a panegyric on 
the happiness of poverty, is something truly 
ludicrous. A person w ho possesses what is 
sufficient to supply his w ants, and even to 
procure him those conveniences which are 


* The Second Essay, on the absurdities of moral writers, well ex¬ 
poses the folly of some declaimers .—Annual Review for 1805. 














13 


suitable to liis station, or can contribute to 
render life easy and agreeable, may, indeed, 
retire into his closet, at an hour of leisure, to 
write an elaborate harangue on the blessings 
of poverty, and for want of other employment, 
may indulge his reveries until the dinner-bell 
calls him to a plentiful repast; the smooth¬ 
ness or floridity of his stile, or the apparent 
energy of his reasoning, may amuse those 
who have as much leisure to read as he has to 
w rite; but all his declamatory eloquence will 
never induce the poor man to think his situa¬ 
tion comfortable, when he is pressed by hunger, 
and cannot procure himself a dinner. 


“ A barley loaf ’tis true my table crowns, 

“ That fast diminishing in lusty rounds, 

“ Stops nature’s cravings, yet her sighs will flow.” 

BLOOMFIELD. 


Surely those writers, w ho thus insult the un¬ 
derstanding of their readers, and give the lie to 
universal experience, have never represented to 
themselves the man of sensibility, surrounded 
by his helpless offspring crying for bread, 
which it is not in his power to provide ; or 
seeing them, or the partner of his bosom, 
languishing on a bed of sickness, without 
being able to procure what is necessary for 
their comfort or recovery. They have never 


f 


i 


14 


contemplated virtue in distress, or genius 
cramped in its exertions by chilling penury; 
nor beheld the miserable spectacle of age and 
infirmity, sinking under the burden of labour 
and want. Such scenes, however, are almost 
every where exhibited: they may be wit¬ 
nessed in every city, town, and village, if not 
designedly overlooked, and present themselves 
too frequently to escape observation. If those 
mistaken moralists have ever contemplated 
the scenes of woe, so common among the 
lower classes of mankind, and yet suppose 
them consistent with happiness, what in the 
name of common sense is it that constitutes 
misery ? 

The arguments and inductions of this mis¬ 
taken philosophy, are so common, and the 
terms “ humble but happy station,” “ con¬ 
tented poverty/’ u happy obscurity,” and a 
thousand cant expressions of this nature, so 
frequently occur, that a volume might be 
filled with quotations of this moral nonsense; 
and from books, it is transferred into the 
mouths of those w ho have never experienced 
this enviable happiness that poverty brings 
for its dowery. e are told that the great 
Frederic of Prussia, walking with a French 
philosopher, 1 think the Abby Mably, and 
seeing a poor old woman, who gained her 


15 


livelihood by labouring in the gardens, asleep 
on a bank, said to his companion, “ I make no 
doubt but that old woman is happier than 
either you or I.” Mr. Gibbon, however, sa¬ 
gaciously enough observes, “ The Prince and 
the philosopher might answer for themselves, 
but I, for my part, do not envy the happiness 
of the old w oman.” At that moment, indeed, 
when sound asleep, her felicity could scarcely 
be called in question; hut very probably 
these seasons of sweet insensibility, in the 
bosom of temporary annihilation, were the 
only happy intervals that checquered the 
continued misery of her life; and if in their 
w aking hours, the King and the Abbe were 
not happier than the poor old w oman, com¬ 
mon sense will suggest, and candour must 
allow , that it was their ow n fault. Nothing 
is more common than reflections of the same 
nature as those of the philosophical monarch 
and his friend ; or rather nothing is more fre¬ 
quently observed than instances of this want 
of reflection, which was on that occasion 
shown in the conversation of these two cele¬ 
brated personages. I have frequently con¬ 
versed with a gentleman of a philosophical 
turn of mind, who although young, healthy, 
and rich, used frequently to assert, that his 
labourers, who toiled and sweat from morning 


16 


to night, were happier than he. 44 They are,” 
said he, 44 contented in their situation and 
if he was not so, the fault was certainly 
neither in nature nor fortune, but only in 
himself. Their contentment, if real, was only 
a patient compliance with imperious ne¬ 
cessity: his might have been entirely volun¬ 
tary; and if he had placed himself a few days 
in their situation, experience, that great 
master of human wisdom, would have taught 
him to make a just estimate of its incon¬ 
veniences, and have shown him how much the 
balance was in his own favour. This mis¬ 
taken mode of viewing the picture of human 
life, must have a pernicious tendency towards 
the extinction of that benevolence, which 
ought to glow in the breasts of those who 
have it in their power to alleviate misery, or 
to favour indigent merit. How, indeed, can 
we be inclined to commiserate a condition 
which we consider as sufficiently comfortable. 

It must be confessed, that many among the 
very low est classes of mankind, plunged in 
ignorance, and strangers to every elevated 
thought , experience in the pursuit and enjoy¬ 
ment of that small portion of sensual plea¬ 
sures, which falls to their lot, almost all the 
happiness of which they are able to conceive 
any idea. This satisfies their desires and 



17 


precludes every inclination of a more rational 
and refined nature. A felicity, however, of 
this kind, proceeding not from sentiment but 
from insensibility, exhibits a degradation of 
mind that ought rather to excite than repress 
our commiseration of a condition, which 
imperious necessity and dull stupidity alone 
render tolerable. The ingenious Mr. Aiken 
says, “ Far be it from me to insult poverty by 
declaiming on its advantages, we have had 
enough of that cant,” and it is nothing less 
than consummate absurdity to obtrude upon 
men groundless reasonings, which none but 
fools will believe. Ought we not rather to 
paint the good and evil of life in their genuine 
colours, and represent them such as they 
really are, and such as they will ever be pro¬ 
nounced by those whom experience qualifies 
for making a just estimation? 

That the evils of life are not imaginary but 
real, the universal feelings of mankind declare; 
and bitter experience corroborates the theory 
of reason and sentiment. It is therefore in 
vain to attempt to argue men out of their 
senses, or to make them believe themselves 
happy, when every feeling which nature has 
implanted in the human composition, in¬ 
forms them, in terms more forcible than 
language can furnish, that they are com¬ 
pletely miserable. 

c 


18 


Imagination may paint ideal scenes, or ex¬ 
hibit illusory views, and rhetoric may deceive 
by false or exaggerated representation, and 
on many occasions give to fallacious reasoning 
an appearance of truth; but human feelings 
will prevail against the most subtle argu¬ 
mentation, and triumph over all the delusions 
of fancy. The most elaborate description of 
the tropical regions will not warm a person 
who is freezing under the arctic circle, nor 
can all the powers of imagination draw from 
the snows of Lapland any refreshing coolness, 
to one who is fainting under the ardent heat 
of the torrid zone.* 

Poets and philosophers, however, have 
taken considerable pains, and both exerted 
the powers of genius, and employed the 
subtleties of argumentation as well as the 
flow ers of rhetoric, to persuade mankind that 
riches, honours, and the other gifts of fortune 
are burdens and encumbrances; that mean¬ 
ness of condition excludes care; that wealth 
and eminence produce anxiety and solicitude; 
and that tranquillity, contentment, and happi¬ 
ness, which are seldom found amongst the 
great, are the appendages of obscurity and 


* The absurdities of moral writers are well exposed in the following 
passages .—Monthly Review for July 1807. 






19 


indigence. Their florid declamations, however* 
are no more than the mere effusions of fancy, 
the sophistical reasonings of a theory contra¬ 
dictory to human feelings, and exploded by 
universal experience. 

“ Content the poet sings, with us resides, 

“ In lonely cots like mine the damsel hides} 

“ And veill he then in raptured visions tell, 

“ That sweet content with want can never dwell.” 

BLOOMFIELD. 

It seems that the system of moralizing here 
alluded to, has originated from a good in¬ 
tention of promoting the peace of society, by 
rendering the poor and the unfortunate con¬ 
tented in their situation. It may even have 
been thought an act of benevolence to conceal, 
as much as possible, from the eyes of the 
indigent and distressed, the view of their 
misery, and to amuse them with the contem¬ 
plation of a fictitious happiness, in order to 
draw their attention from real hardships and 
misfortunes. But how laudable soever may 
be the design, the method is defective. It is 
founded on erroneous principles, and tends 
to inculcate a theory so directly contrary to 
the voice of nature, that nothing beneficial to 
mankind can be the result. 

If such principles w ere made the rule of 
human conduct, the effects would be ex¬ 
ceedingly pernicious; but fortunately this 

c 2 


20 


I 


consequence is not to be apprehended; for 
however such reasoning may be approved in 
a didactic poem, or a moral discourse, it is 
universally exploded in practice. If this, 
indeed, were not the case, there would be an 
end of all laudable enterprise, of all in¬ 
dustrious exertion, and of all improvement in 
arts and sciences, manufactures and commerce; 
or rather those conveniences and embellish¬ 
ments of civilized life would never have had 
a beginning. From a desire of avoiding the 
evils of poverty, and of enjoying the blessings 
which riches are the means of procuring, all 
these undertakings originate. 

“ Impiger extremos currit mercator ad Indos, 

“ Per mare pauperiem fugiens per saxa, per ignes.” 

tf From Europe’s coasts to India’s farthest shores, 

“ The active merchant roams in quest of gain, 

“ Both land and seas through sultry climes explores, 

“ Flying from want and all its baleful train.” 

HOF. 

If poverty, indeed, had not been ever con¬ 
sidered as an evil of tremendous magnitude, 
the active powers of man would never have 
been called into exertion, but would have 
remained buried in a state of stupid torpidity. 
If all men had rested satisfied with their con¬ 
dition, without any desire of its amelioration, 
or any endeavours for that purpose, the human 
species would yet have remained uncivilized. 




21 



ESSAY III. 

« 

ON THE CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION IN TEM¬ 
PORAL DIFFICULTIES* 

SlNCEhuman life abounds with innumerable 
evils, of which the reality is too well known 
by those who fee 1 their pressure ; since many 
of these are unavoidable by any human 
prudence, and irremediable by any human 
efforts ; and since ideal felicity, although it 
may help to counterbalance and alleviate, 
cannot remove actual misery ; it is a matter 
of the utmost importance to find an effectual 
remedy for that immense and multifarious 
load of calamity, which lies so heavy on the 
far greatest pait of mankind. This, how¬ 
ever, must not be sought in that fallacious 
mode of reasoning, which would metamor¬ 
phose human feelings, and persuade men to 
call good evil and evil good, in opposition to 
common sense and uniform experience. In 
some cases a misfortune may prove a blessing, 
by preventing a greater calamity; but yet it is 
a positive evil, although productive of a 
good effect by that prevention. 

c 3 


22 


■* 


Since all the subtleties of logic and all the 
eloquence of rhetorical declamation cannot 
extinguish human feelings, or alter the nature 
of things, nor any efforts of human strength 
or skill prevent the approach of calamity, or 
remove the pressure of affliction, we must look 
up to a higher principle of reasoning. We 
must consider this present condition of man 
as a probationary state, assigned to us by 
unerring wisdom, for the most gracious pur¬ 
poses, and for the completion of one vast and 
consistent plan. It is happy for us, that in 
our present state of short-sighted ignorance, 
amidst the mists which darken the under¬ 
standing, and veil from our eyes the mysterious 
designs of omniscience, revelation comes to 
the aid of reason, to supply its defects, and 
teach us to make a just estimate of the good 
and evil of life. 

To discover the salutary tendency of this 
mixture of good and evil, which constitutes 
so striking and so mysterious a part in the 
great plan of Divine Providence, we must 
have recourse to religion ; not to a religion of 
system, of human fabrication, and partial ex¬ 
clusion, but to that universal and enlightened 
religion, which not confined to sects and 
denominations, teaches us to regard the Deity 
as the universal parent and sovereign of all 


23 


mankind, extending his paternal care to all 
his creatures, and not permitting a hair to 
fall from the head of the meanest individual, 
but by an eternal and irresistible decree. 
This universal and liberal theory exhibits the 
wisdom, the power, and the goodness of the 
Great Creator, combined in the formation 
and government of the universe, and displays 
the w onderful harmony resulting from seem¬ 
ing discord. It shews that the omnipotent 
and omniscient Being having endowed man 
with a certain portion of active and con¬ 
templative powers, placed him in a world 
abounding with objects, to stimulate their 
exertion, proportioning those objects to his 
means of attainment, providing supplies for 
his wants, and ordaining that a continual 
succession of desires and gratifications should 
animate his efforts, and by constant exercise, 
invigorate his corporeal and mental faculties. 

In this stupendous and complicated system, 
it evidently appears, that the all-wise Creator 

has fixed a just and admirable proportion. 

•* 

To every inanimate being he has given its 
particular properties, to every animal its 
peculiar instinct, with objects properly a- 
dap ted to its operation. T o man he has given 
superior qualities, and implanted in his breast 
such a multiplicity of desires, and such 3 

c 4 


variety of objects for their gratification, as 
incessantly excite his activity. Thus nothing, 
in the physical or moral world, remains in a 
state of torpid repose. Man, especially the 
masterpiece of nature, and lord of the crea¬ 
tion, the most ingenious in the invention 
and supply of his wants, is the most enter¬ 
prising and active. 

It must be confessed, that the invention 
of artificial wants has introduced into the 
world a numerous train of evils, as well as 
of benefits, and however conducive to the 
happiness of society in general, has involved 
no small number of individuals in irretrievable 
misfortunes. Every thing demonstrates that 
in the present state of things general good 
cannot be produced without the admission 
of casual evil; and consequently that the 
present life is only the first stage of human 
existence, preparatory to a future state of far 
greater perfection, in which the sufferings of 
virtue will receive an ample compensation, 
where all the apparent discord of things here 
below will terminate in perfect harmony, and 

* i 

all partial evil in universal good. While 
uniform experience feelingly convinces us of 
the hardships and difficulties incident to this 
transitory state of probation, the history of 

♦ * i ' . *• 

human life proves the shortness of their con- 


25 


tinuance ; and religion and philosophy unite 
in teaching us that every atom in the physical, 
and every event in the moral world, has its 
place assigned, and its purpose determined 
by unerring wisdom: and that all human 
affairs are under the direction of an universal 
Providence, whose prescient and all-pervading 
eye at once sees what is best for all. 

These considerations ought to dispose us 
not only to a patient, but even to a cheerful 
acquiescence in the situation assigned us in 
the general system, confident in the pro¬ 
tection and support of a Being infinitely 
powerful, wise, and beneficent. Religion 
teaches us that no creature is overlooked in 
the all comprising view of him who feeds the 
ravens, and clothes the flowers of the field 
with a splendour, which the royal robes of 
Solomon, with all their magnificence, could 
not display. Every created being constitutes 
a part of his universal plan, and nothing is in 
his sight mean or insignificant. It is only in 
the estimation made by our finite capacities, 
that things are accounted great or little, im¬ 
portant or trifling; and according to the rela¬ 
tions which they bear to us in this transitory 
scene, we consider them as entitled to dis¬ 
tinction, or unworthy of regard. Among 
men; those comparisons and discriminations 


26 


must exist, and those artificial distinctions 
which are established in society ought to be 
duly respected, as they constitute the harmony 
of the moral world. But the expansive view 
of the Author of Nature, embracing the im¬ 
mensity of space and the whole sphere of 
existence, in all its multifarious complexities 
and minute details, is not analogous to our 
narrow comparisons and limited survey. 

“ With him, no high nor low, no great nor small, 

“ He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.” 

Disregarding all worldly rank and eminence, 
the Sovereign Arbitrator of the universe, now 
more highly estimates, and will at last, more 
honourably distinguish abject poverty and 
painful labour, borne with patient resigna¬ 
tion, than imperial greatness obtained by in¬ 
justice or supported by tyranny. 

When we consider that every individual 
moves in the sphere assigned him by the 
Supreme Disposer, all earthly distinctions 
will appear of little intrinsic value, and 
estimable only, as necessary degrees of subor¬ 
dination established by Divine Providence, 
for promoting the good of mankind by con¬ 
necting and cementing the great fabric of 
society. Did we but duly reflect on the short 
duration of this probationary state, and on 




I 


27 

our progressive approach towards the place 
of our final destination, where the immense 
and complicated plan of Divine Providence 
will appear clear and luminous, where all 
terrestrial distinctions will be annihilated, 
and all temporal sufferings forgotten in end¬ 
less felicity, we should proceed on our journey 
through life with cheerful resignation ; and 
whether we find the way strewed with flowers 
or with thorns, we should neither be too 
highly delighted by such important ad¬ 
vantages, nor discouraged by such trifling 
difficulties. 


28 


OBSERVATIONS ON THE FOLLOWING ESSAY. 

The author of this volume has not for a moment enter¬ 
tained the absurd expectation of bringing all men to his own 
opinion on any single subject, and much less on so great a 
variety as he has undertaken to discuss. Within the circle 
of his literary acquaintance almost every one of these Essays 
has been a subject of dispute; and the principles and argu¬ 
ments which have been censured by some, have been the 
most highly applauded by others. While, therefore, he can¬ 
not but acknowledge the liberal and candid manner in which 
the reviewers have spoken of his productions, he can neither 
be surprised nor offended if in examining such a variety of 
subjects, their opinions be on some occasions different from 
those which he has formed. The following Essay is that 
which has chiefly attracted the censure of some critics and 
readers, and the applause of others: indeed as few subjects 
are more interesting, there is scarcely any on which opinions 
are more divided. 

The position on which the argument chiefly rests, is 
the essential importance of religion to the preservation of 
social order. This, however, is controverted in the Annual 
Review for 1805. “The degree of virtue,” says Mr. Aikin, 
“ which is requisite for the preservation of public order is in 
fact very moderate, and such as the habits of social inter¬ 
course in a civilized country, and the salutary execution of 
good temporal laws are commonly sufficient to produce.” 
But may not the truth of this argument be justly called in 
question ? If we carefully examine the important, the 










29 


various and infinitely complicated interests of the numerous 
members of a large community, the ardour of their passions., 
and the multiplied competitions arising from their eager 
pursuit of honours, riches, and pleasures, we shall scarcely 
be convinced that a “ very moderate degree of virtue” is 
sufficient to preserve the public tranquillity. Experience, 
on the contrary, too plainly demonstrates that it requires a 
greater portion of virtue than any community has ever yet 
possessed. Mr. Aikin states it as his opinion, that theft and 
murder are as rare among the Chinese as in European states; 
and to the well known dissimulation and deceit of that nation, 
he opposes the slave trade so long carried on by the 
Christians. Of Chinese society we know so little that we 
can scarcely consider our scanty information on the subject 
as a basis of reasoning. None of those who have transmitted 
to us any account of China, have had the opportunity of ac¬ 
quiring an accurate knowledge of the virtues or vices of the 
great mass of the people in that extensive empire; and after 
reading the relations of Du Ilalde, Staunton, and Barrow, we 
know as little of the transactions of the Chinese courts of 
justice as the Chinese do of ours at the Old Bailey and the 
county assizes. It may, however, be observed, that nothing 
contributes so much as Christianity to the establishment of 
,these social habits and these good laws on which Mr. Aikin 
lays so great stress. If the religion of the gospel prevailed 
in China, infanticide would not be permitted; and if it had 
not prevailed in Europe and America, no motion for the 
abolition of the slave trade would have been brought forward 
either in the British parliament or the American congress. 
The full discussion of these points would require a long 
dissertation; but the influence of the Christian religion in 
abolishing slavery in Europe may be seen in Du Cange, vol. 
4, p. 451, voce Servus, and vol. 4, p. 467, &c. voce manu- 
missio; as also in Potgiess. lib. 4, cap. 6l; and in Murat. 


30 


i . , 

Antiq. Ital. vol. 1, p. 849> &c. And in Dr. Robertsons 

IlistoryofCharles V. vol. 1 ,are displayed the effects of religious 

sentiments in checking the practice of private war, and 

establishing the “Truce of God," so frequently mentioned 

by the historians of the middle ages. But to avoid the 

trouble of consulting the various authorities that might be 

• 

adduced, the reader may peruse Ryans Treatise on the 
Effects of Religion. Mr. Aikin, however, is willing to grant 
that “ the general prevalence of Christian virtue, if such a 
state could be hoped for, would produce a modification of 
society as far superior to the present, as a principle of active 
charity is nobler and more beneficial than a rigid rule of 
justice, which furnishes no higher reference than to the 
decisions of human and positive law." If, therefore, we 
cannot expect to see so perfect a state of society, it is 
certainly desirable to approach as near to it as we can, and 
to support every institution that tends to such an approxima¬ 
tion. The annual reviewers say, “ the importance of religion, 
to the individual character, is a subject of perfectly different 
consideration” from its effects on society; but it is some¬ 
what difficult to discover the grounds of this distinction. 
Individuals are the materials of which communities are 
composed, and the aggregate of their virtues or vices, of 
their happiness or misery, constitutes the sum of national 
virtue or vice, of national happiness or misery. Mr. Aikin, 
however, candidly observes, that “ with the character of a 
temperate advocate for national establishments of religion, 
the Author of these Essays unites that of an enlightened and 
zealous supporter of universal liberty of conscience " 

On this Essay the monthly reviewers also have made some 
animadversions. I hey observe that the “uniform court, 
which has been paid by policy to religion, has not been be¬ 
stowed so much with the view of benefiting the latter as for 
the sake of artfully turning it to account. The remark is 


31 


just; but if a greater degree of social order result from the 
alliance between policy and religion, this is the very position 
which the Author attempts to establish. The monthly 
reviewers have quoted Dr. Paley, who says that “ a religious 
establishment is no part of Christianity but only the means 
of inculcating it,” and add that as far as it answers this 
purpose it becomes an individual, as well as a national con¬ 
cern. This is all that the Author of these Essays has ever 
intended to advance. Dr. Paley says, that an establishment 
Avith complete toleration combines “ liberty of conscience, 
with the means of instruction; the progress of truth, with 
the peace of society; and the right of private judgment, with 
the care of the public safety.” Moral and political phi¬ 
losophy, vol. 2 , p. 344 ; and another judicious writer says, 
that an establishment with complete toleration is preferable 
to either an establishment without a toleration or a toleration 
without an establishment. Bates’s Christian Politics, part 
2nd. The monthly reviewers seem to think that the Author 
of these Essays does not distinguish between “ the general 
protection of religion by the state, and the special protection 
and remuneration of a particular sect.” He begs leave, how¬ 
ever, to assure them, that he is fully aware of this distinction. 
“If,” say they, “ every church that teaches the love of God and 
the love of man must have a beneficial effect on society,”* why 
not establish every church ? The answer to this question is 
obvious: the measure is impracticable. The state might, 
indeed, establish a certain number of different churches, to 
accord with the prevailing sentiments of a great majority of 
the subjects, in different districts of an extensive empire. In 
Prussia there are three established churches, the Catholic, 
the Lutheran, and the Calvinist; and in several parts of 
Germany two or more of these establishments are supported 


* The words of the Author, 




* 


32 

by the slate. But if every new sect that arises could claim 
the same privilege, the ministers of different denominations 
would be multiplied to such a degree, that the public revenues 
of this or any other country would be found inadequate to the 
burden. From these considerations it appears that only one, 
or at least a small number of churches can be supported by 
the state, and that other sects can have a legitimate claim 
only to liberty of conscience, freedom of worship, public pro¬ 
tection, and all the other rights of subjects without any legal 
exclusions or invidious distinctions. 







33 


ESSAY IV. 

ON NATIONAL ESTABLISHMENTS IN RELIGION . 


AS no one is so ignorant and inexperienced 
as not to know that all temporal felicity is 
extremely uncertain, of precarious tenure, 
and of short duration ; men have always ac¬ 
knowledged it to be equally their duty and 
their interest, to look up to that Being who 
disposes all things by an irresistible control, 
who dispenses good and evil to mortals in such 
a proportion as he pleases, and governs all 
human affairs with an absolute sway. They 
have ever considered the sincere expression 
of their gratitude for favours received, as the 
most certain means of ensuring their con¬ 
tinuance, and in every season of distress have 
implored the divine assistance as their last 
resource. It is therefore no wonder that re¬ 
ligion, true or false, has always had a decided 
and perceptible influence on the human mind. 
This has long been so well known, that the 
greatest princes and statesmen have con¬ 
sidered its institutions as an important object 
of their attention, and carefully superintended 
iIs establishments and regulation. But while 


D 




34 

the sincere worshippers of the divinity in¬ 
variably esteemed an adherence to its doc¬ 
trines, and a compliance with its precepts, 
their sovereign duty; and the end to which it 
tends, their supreme good; the unprincipled 
and unconscientious discovered it to be an 
useful engine of power, and a dextrous manage¬ 
ment of it the most certain method of ac¬ 
quiring an uncontroled sway over the minds 
and bodies of men. The legislators of an¬ 
tiquity so well knew its influence, that they 
never failed to interweave it with their 
political systems, in order to inspire the peo¬ 
ple with veneration for laws and ordinances, 
which would otherwise perhaps have soon 
been • neglected; and which mankind would 
probably have despised, had they not been 
sanctioned by religion, and thus rendered 
sacred to posterity. 

W hen religion was used to give a sanction 
and an authority to such political or legisla¬ 
tive systems, as were conducive to the good 
of mankind, it could not, in one sense, be said 
to be prostituted to unworthy purposes ; for 
in the ancient systems of Paganism, this was 
certainly the best use that could be made of 
a false and absurd theology. The Pagans 
had very obscure notions of divine things. 
1 heir philosophers and legislators absurdly 


35 

I ,* 

imagined that the knowledge and worship of 
one Supreme and eternal Being, whose ex¬ 
istence they acknowledged, was a doctrine 
too sublime to be communicated to the people, 
and endeavoured to confine their ideas to the 
belief and adoration of subaltern divinities, 
symbolical creatures of their own imagination. 
The w hole of their religious worship consisted 
of pompous ceremonies and splendid pa¬ 
geantry. These systems, however false and 
absurd as they were, had a pow erful effect on 
the minds of the multitude, and by their in¬ 
fluence the ideas of men w r ere in a great 
measure formed. In reading the ancient 
writers, not only poets but orators and 
historians, we always discover traces of the 
prevailing religious systems of the ages and 
countries in which they lived, and generally 
find their ideas in unison with their my¬ 
thology. 

Among the Pagans, religion was rather a 
part of their political economy than a system 
calculated to reform the morals of the people, 
and instruct them in the social duties. But, 
as it had a tendency to cement society, to 
excite patriotism, and to unite and invigorate 
the political system, it was not wholly devoid 
of utility. In all ages religion has been con¬ 
sidered of so great importance to the interests 

d 2 


36 


of society, that no civilized people have ever 
existed, and it has been asserted that none 
can exist, without some theological system, 
and some mode of public w orship. If then, 
some kind of religion, however erroneous, has 
ever been thought essential to the harmony, 
or even to the existence of society, how much 
more a system, which teaches mankind the 
pure w orship of the Deity, w hich inculcates 
the most excellent morality, which tends to 
calm the turbulent passions, and restrain 
inordinate desires, and w hich enjoins obedi¬ 
ence to princes and magistrates, love to our 
neighbours, and universal benevolence to all. 
The Christian religion not only inculcates 
these important doctrines, so conducive to 
the public good, but also adduces such evi¬ 
dences of its divine original as have stood the 
test of the strictest inquiry, and show s itself 
to have been supported by the divine power 
in making its way in the w orld, not like the 
ancient systems of Paganism, or the more 
modern doctrines of Mahometanism, by 
human means, and in unison with human 
propensities, but in direct opposition to all 
power and policy, and to all human passions 
and prejudices. 

A religion of this description is infinitely 
better adapted to the interests of society, as 


37 


well as the happiness of individuals, than 
any system that ever has been, or ever can be 
planned by human policy. The high and 
awful authority, by which it is sanctioned, 
claims the veneration of mankind; and its 
doctrines and precepts are perfectly calcu¬ 
lated for their temporal as well as their eternal 
welfare. In the pursuit of those great objects, 
which Christianity holds out to our expecta¬ 
tion beyond the grave, we secure, in the mean 
while, the possession of the greatest happiness, 
and the most heartfelt satisfaction that human 
nature is capable of enjoying in this present 
state of probationary existence. Evil, both 
physical and moral, is, in many cases, un¬ 
avoidable ; for perfect felicity is incompatible 
with a state of probation. But although 
physical evil be interwoven with the nature 
of things here below, and none can be ex¬ 
empted from its effects, yet a steady adherence 
to the doctrines and precepts of the Christian 
religion exceedingly diminishes the weight 
of its pressure, by directing us to a perfect 
acquiescence in the dispensations of Divine 
Providence, and by teaching us that what¬ 
ever may be the means used for the accom¬ 
plishment of the great design, nothing else 
but universal good can be the final object of 
the plan of infinite wisdom and goodness. 

d 3 


38 

Moral evil, however, is that of which man¬ 
kind have in all ages, the most severely felt 
the baneful effects ; and one of our poets has 
judiciously observed, that 

“ Scarce any ill to human life belongs, 

“ But what our follies cause and mutual wrongs.” 

The oppression of tyrannical rulers, the 
factions, seditions, and conspiracies of re¬ 
bellious subjects, civil and foreign wars, trea¬ 
sons and assassinations, with a long and 
multifarious train of public and private ca¬ 
lamities, which a volume would not suffice 
to enumerate, proceed from a want of the 
general prevalence of Christian morality. An 
eminent writer has left us this judicious and 
elegant remark, that u If we consider the 
contending passions of men, this globe seems 
to be the bedlam of our system; but if we 
contemplate the effects of those passions, we 
shall be inclined to regard it as the bridewell 
of the universe.” This observation, which is 
indeed exceedingly just and striking, adapted 
and expressed with peculiar appropriation 
and energy, perfectly corresponds with that 
of St. James, “ Whence come wars and light¬ 
ings among you, but from your lusts ?’’ If. 
indeed, that great precept of Christianity, 
which enjoins us “ to do unto all men as we 


i 


39 


would that they should do unto us,” were 
practised in the full extent of its meaning and 
requisition, we should then see no moral evil, 
except such as might arise from the unavoid¬ 
able mistakes and misapprehensions of finite 
beings, which the same Christian precept 
would dispose them to rectify without the 
violent decision of injurious malevolence. 

Such being the benevolent tendency of the 
Christian religion, and such its beneficial 
effects on communities, and on the particular 
members of which they are composed, it must 
be a national as well as an individual concern. 
As peace and union, mutual protection and 
support, and every kind of reciprocal benefits 
are the primary, the grand, and indeed the 
only rational objects of the establishment of 
civil society, the basis of its prosperity, and 
even of its existence; and as religion, of what¬ 
ever kind it might be, has ever had a most 
powerful influence on the minds of men, a 
religion so peculiarly adapted to produce 
those desirable effects, ought to be one of the 
principal objects in every legislative system. 
And it seems that the establishment of a 
national church, upon tolerant and liberal 
principles, without any compulsatory mea¬ 
sures for the enforcement of conformity, is 
the most effectual method of propagating 

u 4 


40 


< i C 


and transmitting from one generation to 
another, the knowledge and practice of 
Christianity. 

It may, and indeed has often been ob¬ 
jected, that the most rational system of 
Christianity, is to leave to every society or 
congregation the business of providing them¬ 
selves with ministers, without any national 
establishment. If all men were truly re¬ 
ligious, the plan might tolerably well answer 
the purpose ; but daily observation shows 
that this is not the c; 
and in some societies 



would undoubtedly 


zeal and liberality of their hearers; but in 
many others, it is to be apprehended, that 
the case would be different. The Christian, 
like the Mosaic system, ordains that one day 
in the week should be set apart for the per¬ 
formance of religious duties, and there cannot 
be a better method of inculcating the doc¬ 
trines and promoting the practice of religion, 
than that of having places dedicated to that 
use, under the sanction and support of the 
civil authority, and regularly distributed 
throughout every part of an extensive Country, 
where the worship of the Supreme Being is 
celebrated with decent solemnity; the doc- 
trines of religion taught and explained, and 


i c 




41 


lectures on Christian morality and the social 
duties, delivered to all who desire to receive 
instruction. Some sincere Christians think 
all this unnecessary, and regard it as no more 
than a mere outside religion, a kind of formal 
Christianity. They imagine that they could 
very well dispense with the national establish¬ 
ment, and that they are more editied in their 
own private societies, than by frequenting 
the public worship, But an impartial view 
of things, with a little reflection, will suffice 
to convince them, that they reason upon 
wrong principles, and consequently draw 
from them an erroneous conclusion. They 
themselves may, perhaps, receive greater edifi¬ 
cation in their own particular assemblies, in 
attending to preachers of their own choice, 
and to whose doctrines they give a decided 
approbation. This is a concession which 
they may claim, as every man has an indis¬ 
putable right to worship the Deity in such a 
manner as he thinks the most acceptable; but 
supposing this to be the case, in regard to 
themselves, are they sure that it w ould be the 
same with others ? Would the great mass 
of the people frequent those assemblies, or 
voluntarily contribute to the support of the 
ministers? An impartial observer of man¬ 
kind, may easily perceive their dislike of 


42 


purchasing instruction, although they may 
perhaps be willing to receive it as a gift. I he 
instruction of the people at large is, however, 
an object of serious consideration, as on the 
purity of their morals the peace and happiness 
of society depends. A small number of per¬ 
sons, who are of a religious turn of mind, or 
a few individuals, who by philosophical 
reasonings on the fitness and propriety of 
things, and on the order of civil society may, 
like many of the ancient philosophers, learn 
to rectify inordinate desires, to subdue their 
passions, and to accommodate their conduct 
to the practice of moral and social duties, do 
not constitute the bulk of a nation. The 
great mass of mankind have no other religion 
than what is instilled into their minds by 
established systems. They have in the early 
part of life received some general notions, 
they have seen the established customs, they 
have been in the habit of frequenting some 
place of worship, and of hearing the instruc¬ 
tions there delivered, they adopt the creed of 
the country in which they live, or of the people 
with whom they associate ; this is all their 
religion, all their morality. They are not in 
the habit of thinking for themselves. Few, 
indeed, have abilities sufficient to enable them 
to make a judicious choice, and as few enjoy 


43 , 

the leisure requisite for religious disquisitions. 
To persons of such a description, and so 
circumstanced, a national church is the most 
beneficial institution that human wisdom 
could devise. It throws in their way such 
instructions, and unfolds to their mind such 
a knowledge of divine things, as they have 
neither inclination to seek, nor abilities to 
find. 

Since it is evident to every one who has 
observed the state of the moral world, that 
the generality of mankind have no other 
knowledge of religion than what national 
churches inculcate, is there not too much 
reason to suppose, that w ithout some institu¬ 
tions of that kind, they would not have any at 
all ? Some, indeed, have thought differently, 
because they see societies exist which disagree 
from those churches in what they consider 
essential points of doctrine ; but these dis¬ 
agreeing doctrines, if they be duly examined, 
their intrinsic value justly estimated, and their 
tendency considered, will generally be found 
to be no more than trivial differences of 
opinion on metaphysical subjects, or cere¬ 
monial observances, while they all agree in in¬ 
culcating the love of God and the love of man. 

General example and established custom, 
have an extraordinary power and influence 


44 


over mankind. The more the public worship 
is frequented by those who assent to its doc¬ 
trines, the more it will be conducive to the 
general good of society. It is scarcely possible 
constantly to assist at the worship of the 
Supreme Being, without perceiving the mind 
more enlightened, without feeling a greater 
detestation of sin, without being more atten¬ 
tive to the admonitions of conscience, and 
without more frequent reflections on the 
vanity of temporal and the infinite importance 
of eternal things; and above all on the re¬ 
wards and punishments destined to virtue 
and to vice. These reflections, which must 
sometimes occur, and the habits they must 
naturally produce, have a powerful tendency 
to improve the morals of the people, and pro¬ 
mote the peace of society. Religion, by 
teaching men to restrain impetuous passions, 
and vicious propensities, humanizes their 
minds, and is conducive to their present tran¬ 
quillity as well as their future welfare. 

The argument which is generally, and in 
some respect plausibly, brought forward 
against national establishments in religion, 
is founded on the circumstance of Christ and 
the apostles not giving, in any part of their 
doctrine, the least hint of the propriety of 
such institutions. Jesus Christ, say the ob- 










45 


jectors against national churches, never gave 
the least intimation of an intention that the 
religion, which he came to establish, should 
be in any respect connected with the state; 
and the apostles are equally silent on that 
subject. The w hole tenor of their conduct, 
as well as that of their Divine Master, shews, 
that the object of their mission w as to estab¬ 
lish a mode of worship of a tendency purely 
spiritual, and unconnected with any political 
systems, or with any thing of a temporal 
nature. This mode of reasoning appears, at 
the first sight, sufficiently plausible, but to 
appreciate its merits, we must consider the 
circumstances in which Christianity was first 
propagated, and bring them into contrast 
with those in which the Mosaical revelation 
was first given ; as also w ith those in which 
the religion of Christ was finally established, 
and ever since transmitted to the successive 
generations of mankind. The Mosaical law 
w as given to an independent people, as a rule 
for their social and moral conduct; and 
although it was a divine revelation, no system 
of religion was ever more intimately con¬ 
nected with the state. It formed the basis of 
the Jewish government, and the civil code of 
the nation. This connexion, between the 
political and religious system of that nation, 


had always subsisted so long as Judea re¬ 
mained independent; and even during the 
periods of national subjugation, the law of 
Moses was ever acknowledged as the sole 
legislative authority, to which the decision of 
every question of right and wrong was ulti¬ 
mately referred. If we consider that Jesus 
Christ conformed to all the observances, and 
complied with all the ceremonies of the law, 
and lived and died a member of the Jewish 
church, the remark that he did not connect 
his religion with any political system, cannot 
furnish any basis of argumentation. The 
apostles, who first preached the doctrines of 
Christianity, were also surrounded with ob¬ 
stacles, which rendered the alliance of their 
system with political government impossible, 
and the very idea of such a connexion absurd. 
The legislative authority of every nation de¬ 
clared itself hostile to their doctrine : The 
Jewish government reprobated it as blas¬ 
phemous, and those of the Pagan nations con¬ 
sidered it as fanatical. 

In such circumstances, it is no wonder that 
the apostles should never, in any part of their 
writings, suggest the establishment of a 
national church. To whom, indeed, could 
they have proposed such a plan? To the 
Sanhedrim ot Jerusalem, who had condemned 









47 


their Master to an ignominious death, pro¬ 
scribed their persons, and reprobrated their 
principles ? or to the Emperor and senate of 
Home, who would undoubtedly have treated 
the proposal with contempt, and the pro¬ 
posers as madmen, which indeed, they must 
have been, if they could, in their circum¬ 
stances, have formed so romantic a project! 
There is not, however, any thing found in 
their writings that authorize us to suppose 
that they would have disapproved of such a 
plan, if any government had taken them 
under its protection ; and it can scarcely be 
doubted, that if such an event had taken 
place, Christianity would, in that nation, have 
been much sooner propagated than in any 
other. History informs us, that at the ac¬ 
cession of Constantine, the number of christi- 

* 

ans bore a very small proportion to that of 
Pagans, in the Roman Empire ; and it is 
evident that it was the establishment of a 
national church, that enabled Christianity 
finally to triumph over Paganism, which was 
not extirpated until the reign of Theodosius 
the great. And indeed, it does not appear, 
that the extirpation of idolatry was affected 
in any nation of Europe, by any other means 
than a national establishment. 

The United States of America are generally 

* - • * 

• # 

St 

\ • 


48 


held up as an example of a people cultivating 
the doctrines and morality of the Christian 
religion, without any national church ; but it 
ought likewise to be considered, that the 
Anglo Americans are a nation not less contra¬ 
distinguished from most others by the peculi¬ 
arity of their moral circumstances, than by 
that of their local and political situation. A 
very great part of them were originally dis¬ 
senters, and many of their progenitors had 
crossed the Atlantic, in search of an asylum, 
from religious persecution. These fugitives 
were for the most part zealots for their par¬ 
ticular sects, and having carried with them 
the strong impression of religious ideas, trans¬ 
mitted them to their descendants. The first 
colonists, in fine, were rather inclined to err 
on the side of fanaticism, than to run into 
the contrary extreme, and consequently the 
support of preachers became habitual, and 
prescription among them supplied the want 
of national establishments. Besides this, it 
is to be observed, that in the thinly peopled 
provinces of North America, a less propensity 
to irreligion prevails, and fewer inducements 
to immorality present themselves than in the 
populous countries of the old world. From 
these considerations, it may be inferred, that 
a national church, however conducive it 

t 


/ 


49 


might he to the advancement of religion, is 
less necessary on the other side of the Atlantic 
than in this quarter of the globe. 

Causes, which have long and extensively 
operated, become through length of time im¬ 
perceptible, at least to the superficial ob¬ 
server, and to trace their operation, it often 
requires a considerable acuteness of penetra¬ 
tion and accuracy of remark. Religious 
systems, sanctioned by public authority, have 
been not only the medium through which 
Christianity has been so widely diffused, but 
the authoritative rules by which the standard 
of morality has beCn fixed. Had not the 
Mosaical religion been a national system, 
adapted to the circumstances, and operating 
on the public mind of a numerous people, 
it would never have subsisted so long sur- 
rounded with Pagan nations, and amidst 
the frequent deviations of idolatrous princes, 
and a profit gate people : at least, the writings 
of the old testament would never have been 
transmitted to us under the sanction of so 
high an authority as that from which they 

are received. We Could not, at the most, 

•> 

have considered them as any thing more than 
the compositions of virtuous and ingenious 
individuals, and consequently we should have 
wanted at least, one of the fundamental 

E 


/ 


evidences of Christianity. Perhaps we may 
carry the argument yet farther, and not 
hazard much in supposing that, it no national 
church had been established, we should, at 
this very time, have been immersed in a total 
ignorance of religious matters. W itliout the 
illumination diffused by these institutions, it 
is very probable that modern Europe \\ ould 
not have preserved, through so many ages of 
Gothic barbarism, so great a degree of theo¬ 
logical knowledge, or so regular a standard 
of moral practice as she has, at present, the 
advantage of possessing. 

It has, indeed, been very justly observed, 
that in every country, dissenters are not in 
general less conscientious and exact in the 

o 

performance of religious and moral duties, 
than those who are members of the establish¬ 
ment. It is, however, from the established 
church that their religious and moral ideas 
were originally drawn. Moral principles, 
inculcated early in life, have a great influence 
on the heart of man, even after the specu¬ 
lative doctrines with which they were as¬ 
sociated are rejected by the understanding. 
The founders of every dissenting sect were 
originally members of some established church, 
and from that establishment had derived those 
fundamental doctrines of Christianity, and 


51 


those ideas of Christian morality, which they 
have taught to their followers, and trans¬ 
mitted to posterity. The piety, therefore, of 
dissenters, however sincere, or their morals 
however irreproachable, afford no proof of 
the inutility of an established church as a 
vehicle of general instruction. When the 
matter, therefore, is considered in this point 
of view, which is certainly just, dissenters 
are under greater obligations to national 
churches than superficial inquiry would dis¬ 
cover, as these institutions have been the 
primary source of their religious knowledge, 
and the medium through which they received 
their theological and moral ideas. 

The immoralities, whether true or false, 
that have been imputed to some individuals 
among the clergy of different national churches, 
or the real or fancied imperfections of those 
establishments, ought not to be considered as 
any ground of objection against their pro¬ 
priety. Religion is of divine original, and is 
a divine impulse on the human mind ; being 
revealed to man for his use and happiness, 
the regulation of its external forms was com¬ 
mitted to his management, and, like every 
other thing in which men are concerned, will 
be tinctured with the imperfections of human 
nature. In religious as well as in political 

E 2 


52 


institutions, some mistakes, some unavoidable 
mismanagement will infallibly be found, 
owing to human frailty, and some abuses 
arising from human depravity. The want 
of attention to this truth is often the cause 
of fanaticism in religion, and of faction in 
the state. A vain expectation of finding per¬ 
fection in human establishments, often pro¬ 
duces a desire of innovation, where no altera¬ 
tion can he made without introducing greater 
abuses than those which disaffection pretends 
to rectify. 

Those who bestow ecclesiastical benefices, 
cannot always be able to ascertain the merit 
of those on whom they are conferred : such a 
competency of judging would argue a degree 
of penetration more than human. In every 
community, religious or political, and in every 
order of that community, both virtuous and 
vicious members will be found: this has ever 
been and ever will be the case. Reason and 
experience forbid- us to suppose, that all w ho 
are constituted mi nisters of religion are worthy 
of that exalted dignity ; but no arguments 
can be adduced to prove that all, or even any 
considerable number of them, in proportion 
to the whole, are unworthy. To believe that 
all the clergy of established churches are 
pious and holy, would argue a blind super- 


53 


stition, together with a profound ignorance 
of the history of mankind : to suppose them 
all impious and immoral, is an opinion con¬ 
tradictory to both reason and experience, and 
which could only originate in the contempt 
and hatred of religion itself. In the church 
of England, in the church of Rome, in the 
Lutheran, Calvinist, and Greek churches, a 
great number of ecclesiastics have been found, 
whose learning has illuminated mankind, and 
whose piety has reflected lustre on their re¬ 
spective denominations. If an impartial es¬ 
timate were made of the virtues and vices of 
the clergy of established churches, there is 
ground for a reasonable hope, there is even 
room for a strong presumption, that the for¬ 
mer would exceedingly preponderate ; and 
this is, perhaps, as much as can be expected 
in any class of finite beings. To expect per¬ 
fection among the clergy of any denomina¬ 
tion, is unreasonable, and inconsistent with 
an experimental knowledge of human nature. 
By becoming ministers of religion, they do 
not cease from being men, and consequently 
fallible. 

iSo rational argument can be adduced to 
prove, or e\ en to make it appear probable, 
that the clergy vvouid be more pious if all 
national church establishments were aboiish- 

E 3 


54 


ed. If the ministers of religion depended for 
support on the capricious liberality of their 
respective congregations, they would meet 
with stronger inducements to model their 
doctrines according to the inclinations of 
their hearers, and to connive at immorality, 
than when they are rendered independent by 
a national establishment, and consequently 
are not compelled by their necessities to com¬ 
ply with vice and folly, and to flatter instead 
of endeavouring to restrain the passions of 
mankind. 

The members of dissenting churches, being 
also members of society, as well as those who 
profess the established religion, are equally 
interested in every thing that tends to pro¬ 
mote the peace of the community; for the 
security of individuals in regard to both per¬ 
son and property, depends on the public tran¬ 
quillity, of which the general observance of 
the precepts of religion is the surest basis. 
This observation leads to the discussion of a 
question which has been debated in every 
country, where any dissenters from the na¬ 
tional religion are found, and has generally 
received an erroneous solution. This question 
is, whether dissenters ought to regard it as 
any injustice or oppression, to be obliged to 
contribute to the support of the established 
church ? 


55 


Dissenters, like others, must live in the 
crowd of mankind, and transact their affairs 
not solely with persons of their own sect, but 
with the promiscuous multitude. It is, con* 
sequently, their interest, as well as that of 
others, that some national system should be 
established for the general propagation of 
Christianity, in order to render the knowledge 
of its precepts accessible to every one, and to 
bring them forward to the attention of those 
who w ould not, of their ow n accord, make 
them the subject of their inquiry. 

It is true, that in countries where dissenters 
enjoy the greatest freedom, and where liberty 
of conscience is fixed on the broadest basis, 
every person, of whatever denomination he 
may be, must, in some way or other, con¬ 
tribute to the support of the national church, 
although he neither assent to its doctrines, nor 
frequent its worship. This is the case in every 
country where any such church is established. 
Ev ery public establishment must be support¬ 
ed directly or indirectly by the people, and 
the national expenditure must be supplied by 
the individuals of w hich the nation is com¬ 
posed. It is, indeed, as just as it is necessary, 
that establishments, for the public benefit, 
should be supported at the public expence. 
\\ e have seen the church lands, in Russia and 

e 4 


i 


France, seized by the civil power, the former 
by Catherine il. and the latter by the national 
convention. I he salaries of the clergy, in 
those two countries, are now paid in money. 
This measure necessarily involves in its ope¬ 
ration every dissenter, whether subject or 
foreigner, and imposes upon him the necessity 
of contributing to the support oi the national 
clergy. The salaries of the clergy being paid 
out of the public treasury, and that treasury 
supported, as in all other countries, by taxes 
levied on the national consumption, every 
person, whether Frenchman or foreigner, who 
resides in France, must, in proportion to his 
consumption of taxable commodities during 
his residence in that country, contribute his 
share towards the support of the national 
church, and the maintenance of its hierarchy. 

This general obligation of contributing to 
the support of the established church, from 
which those who do not join in its com¬ 
munion, nor attend its worship, are not ex¬ 
empted, is regarded by some as a persecuting 
imposition, and an act of injustice. In this 
light it is view ed by some in this country ; 
audit would be an important service to the 
public, as w ell as to those w ho have imbibed 
this opinion, some of w hom are otherw ise re¬ 
spectable characters, to exhibit the matter in 


57 


suclj a light as might convince them of their 
mistake. To produce this conviction in the 
minds of those who attentively consider and 
know how to appreciate the benefits, resulting 
from civil and religious order, from consci¬ 
entious morals and social tranquillity, will 
not be impossible : if they judge without 
passion or prejudice, perhaps it will not be 
difficult, it will be easy to demonstrate, 
that dissenters from the national church, de* 
ri\e from its existence and influence, benefits 
which more than compensate the contribu¬ 
tions which they furnish towards its support. 
In tiiis respect, there exists a conspicuous and 
striking similiarity between civil and rer 


ligious establishments. In political com¬ 
munities, every member derives from the 
state legal protection and domestic security, 
advantages more than equivalent to his share 
of the expence incurred for its support, al¬ 
though he may not, perhaps, have sufficiently 
reflected on the principles of civil society, to 
perceive and appreciate the benefits which 
accrue to him from its institutions. If an 
individual considered the difference between 
living among civilized men, whose passions 
are restrained by salutary regulations, and 
whose actions are under the control of laws, 
which afford security t# his person and pro- 


58 


perty, and a life passed among savages, whose 
tumultuous and inordinate desires are sub¬ 
jected to no legal restriction, where his life 
and property must every hour lie at the mercy 
of his neighbours, and where any one who 
happens to surpass him in strength, may, 
whenever he pleases, deprive him of his 
wealth, or even of his existence ; he would 
readily make a just estimate of the difference 
between civil society and savage anarchy. 
His conclusion would be that the advantages 

ij 

of security and protection, resulting from 
good government, are an ample compensation 
for the expenccs of individuals, in contri¬ 
buting to its support. The same considera¬ 
tions, when applied to religious establish¬ 
ments, will lead to a similar conclusion. If 
a dissenter from any national church, reflected 
on the difference between living among men, 
who have a general know ledge of the Christian 
religion, and w hose morals are influenced by 
its precepts, and passing his life among such 
as are destitute of all religion, and ignorant 
of Christian morality, he would immediately 
pronounce the benefits resulting to each 
member of the community, from the general 
dissemination of the doctrines and precepts 
of Christianity, to be more than an equivalent 
for the trifling sum that he contributes to the 


% 


59 

support of the establishment. If he con¬ 
sidered how much more eligible a Calvinist, 
a Quaker, or a Catholic, must find it to live 
among Christian Protestants, whose morals 
are influenced by the doctrines of the gospel, 
than among men who are destitute of religion, 
conscience, and morality ; or how much more 
agreeable it must be to a Protestant to live 
among Christian Catholics, who agree with 
him in the belief of the same general, essential, 
and fundamental doctrines, and the same ob¬ 
ligatory precepts of Christianity, who have 
the same moral ideas as himself, make the 
same distinction between virtue and vice, and 
expect the same remuneration of their deeds, 
than among men who are totally unacquainted 
with these things, and whose inclinations are 
the only rule of their actions ; he would view 
the difference of situation in the same light as 
a person who investigates the principles and 
considers the effects of civil legislature ; sees 
the difference between a well regulated com¬ 
munity and a horde of barbarians, ignorant 
of moral order, and under no legal restraint. 
If a person reside in Turkey, it is undoubtedly 
more to his interest that the Mahometan 
establishment should be supported, than that 
no religion whatever should exist among 
the people. Mahometanism itself, however 




I 


do 

erroneous its creed may be in other respects, 
inculcates this important truth, the existence 
of a future state, where every individual of 
mankind must appear before the bar of the 
eternal Judge, and receive the just remunera¬ 
tion of his deeds, the reward of his virtues, 
or the punishment of his crimes ; a doctrine, 
which has so powerful a tendency to control 
impetuous passions, to check inordinate de¬ 
sires, and to promote the peace of society, that 
every individual is interested in its general 
propagation, among those with whom he is 
obliged to associate, even although it may 
accidentally be connected with other tenets 
to which he cannot give his approbation. It 
must, however, be understood, that through 
the whole of this view, and the reflections 
with which it is accompanied, liberty of 
conscience is supposed as the indisputable 
right of every individual; for it would cer¬ 
tainly be more desirable to live among the 
most uncivilized Fagans, than among per¬ 
secuting Christians. 

In public, the wicked are deterred from 
the commission of crimes, by knowing them¬ 
selves exposed to the consequences; but no 
human laws, nor any human power can re¬ 
strain the robber or the assassin, when privacy 
promises him security from punishment. In 




such cases, nothing but the influence of re¬ 
ligion, exhibiting, in contrast, the allure¬ 
ments and the terrors of a future state, and 
the inexorable justice of the Supreme Ruler 
of the universe, who will not suffer either 
virtue to be unrewarded, or vice to remain 
unpunished, can operate as a check to human 
depravity. The general inculcation of doc¬ 
trines, so eminently conducive to the peace 
of society, and the security of all its mem¬ 
bers, is therefore unquestionably the interest 
of every individual. For this reason, it ap¬ 
pears, that if a national church be the most 
effectual means of propagating the general 
doctrines and obligatory precepts of Christia¬ 
nity, it becomes both a public and a private 
concern, and that in consideration of the 
benefits derived from its influence on national 
morals, no individual ought to think it a 
grievance to contribute to its support, al¬ 
though he may not, perhaps, give his assent 
to some of its doctrines. 

No arrogant claim is here made to the right 
of deciding on the merits of different sects 
and denominations of Christians. The task 
of tracing the intricate maze of religious con¬ 
troversy, and of determining what ought to 
be the established religion, in any of the 
countries of Europe, is left to the decision of 


62 


theologians, who are better qualified for these 
discussions. It seems, however, that the 
judicious choice and proper organization of 
these establishments depend, in no small 
degree, on the particular circumstances of 
nations. The general and fundamental truths 
of Christianity are, in their nature, invariable; 
subordinate doctrines, and ceremonial ob¬ 
servances, are to be considered only as ap¬ 
pendages to religion, and therefore they have, 
at different periods, and in different countries, 
undergone a variety of changes and reforms. 
Every church that teaches the love of God, 
and the love of man, must have a beneficial 
effect on society, and on this consideration it 
appears eligible that, in every country, some 
national system of religion should be estab¬ 
lished, as it seems to be the most effectual 
means of strengthening, and rendering gene., 
ral, the influence of Christianity, by dis¬ 
seminating among the unthinking multitude 
the knowledge of its essential doctrines and 
moral precepts. 


63 


ESSAY V. 

ON UNIVERSAL LIBERTY OP CONSCIENCE. 

Of all the phenomena of the moral world, 
of all the eccentricities of the human mind, of 
all the absurdities which disgrace the history 
of the species, none has been more unreason¬ 
able in its nature, or more calamitous in its 
effects, than that infernal spirit of religious 
persecution which has so often deluged the 
earth with blood, and rendered this globe 
more like an habitation of devils than of men. 
If this monster be traced to its origin it will, 
perhaps, be found to proceed from two dis¬ 
tinct, and in some respects, opposite prin¬ 
ciples, a bigotted zeal for some particular 
doctrine or system of religion, and the desire 
of authority, influence, and power ; the first 
has generally the greatest influence on the 
minds of the ignorant and superstitious; but 
there is every reason to believe that the latter, 
principally actuates those whose situation 
affords them the greatest power and oppor¬ 
tunity of exercising this religious tyranny. 
In some cases it is difficult to ascertain which 


I 


64 


of the two has the predominancy, so intimately 
are they united and intermixed. \\ hen a 
particular train of ideas is once fixed in the 
mind, those ideas continue to influence its 
operations, direct its reasonings, and deter¬ 
mine its conclusions, when the principles 
which at first gave rise to such mental com- 
binations no longer exist; and thus prejudices 
remain when the causes which produced them 
are forgotten. Superstition and bigotry, 
have too often been instilled into the minds 
of men, together with the pure and benevo¬ 
lent doctrines of religion, and formed a mon¬ 


strous combination, capable of producing the 
greatest absurdities, and the most enormous 
crimes. This mode of corrupting the mind, 
by converting pious zeal into intolerant 
bigotry, may sometimes, perhaps, have pro¬ 


ceeded from mistake, it seems, however, to 
have more frequently been the effect of 
design. Whether those who propose motives 
for the conduct of others, are themselves 
actuated by the same principles, which they 
endeavour to inculcate, is often extremely 
problematical. Sometimes it is very certain, 
that real and pretended motives of action are 


widely different. A fallacious picture is often 
exhibited by those whose interest it is to rule 


the minds of men, in order to make their 



65 


thoughts and actions subservient to their 
particular purposes. This was often the case 
in the times of persecution: interest gave the 
first impulse; ignorance and bigotry gave 
continuance to its force and activity. If 
Daniel’s high station, under King Darius, had 
not given umbrage to the Persian courtiers, 
who were desirous of the office which he 
tilled, they would not have singled him out 
as an object of persecution, neither w ould the 
three Jewish brethren have been represented 
to the King of Babylon as despisers of the 
gods that he worshipped, if the courtiers had 
not view ed with envious jealousy the favours 
they received from that monarch. Religion 
had no concern in these matters, it was made 
the pretext in both these cases; but interest 
was the primum mobile of the w hole business. 

If none had been interested in the support 
of Paganism, the primitive Christians w ould 
not have so severely suffered under Pagan per¬ 
secution, nor would the different sects of 
Christians have persecuted one another with 
such rancorous malevolence, if interest had 
not given the impulse to intolerant zeal. If 

emoluments, as well as doctrines, had not 

* 

been thought in danger, the flame would have 
burned with less violence, and have been 
sooner extinguished, or rather it would, per- 


F 


66 


haps, never have been kindled. Liberty oi 
conscience, in regard to the intercourse be¬ 
tween man and his Maker, is a right so per¬ 
fectly natural and inalienable, that its ex¬ 
tinction could never have been meditated, 
had not interest first formed the project, and 
committed the execution to ignorance and 
superstition. 

It is perfectly congenial to human nature, 
that men, who are in possession of any ad¬ 
vantages, should be unwilling to lose them; 
and they will naturally and unavoidably be 
alarmed at the prospect of such an event. It 
may, therefore, easily be supposed, that in 
times of religious commotion, when the spirit 
of intolerance began to manifest itself in acts 
of violence and oppression, those who stood 
high in the ecclesiastical hierarchy, and 
whose persons and offices were held sacred, 
and commanded the veneration of mankind, 
would be alarmed at every innovation, every 
plan of reform, and every new doctrine which 
seemed to militate against a system that se¬ 
cured to them those emoluments and ad¬ 
vantages. It is necessary to the honour, per¬ 
haps to the existence of religion, that such 
provision should be made for its ministers, as 
may be sufficient to maintain their respecta¬ 
bility, and support the dignity of their station 


67 


\ 

Jlnd character; and if this has, sometimes, 
too strongly warped their affections towards 
temporal things, we must regard it as the 
consequence of that mixture of good and evil, 
existing in every thing here below. If the 
ministers of the altar had not possessed great 
temporal honours and advantages, of which 
they feared the annihilation, it is probable 
that John Huss would not have been con¬ 
demned to the flames* at Constance, nor 
Michael Servetus have suffered the same 
punishment at Geneva; 

Among the ignorant multitude, whose ideas 
are confined by systems, and whose minds are 
narrowed by the tenets of a particular sect, 
a great number of persons are often found, 
who imbibe a spirit of intolerance and perse¬ 
cution, without having the least prospect of 
any temporal advantage from the prevalence 
of any particular opinion, or the predomi¬ 
nancy of any particular religion* In those 
persons this intolerant spirit originates from 
ignorance, misinformation, and prejudice; 
and such are the most proper instruments for 
the use of those who are persecutors from 
more interested and concealed motives. To 
this observation, political affairs furnish 
another perfectly similar, a case exactly 
parallel* A number of persons attach them- 

Jf 2 


68 


selves to the interest of a party, without being 
acquainted with the motives or views of its 
leaders, and profoundly ignorant of their real 
designs, are hurried away by imposing mis¬ 
representations, florid harangues, fallacious 
reasonings, and flattering promises, to every 
extravagance, and every enormity. 

In the religious, or rather irreligious wars, 
which, to the disgrace of humanity, so long 
and repeatedly desolated Europe, none were 
more active than those who were quite in¬ 
different in regard to religion, but made use 
of its name in order to gain adherents among 
the zealots of the contending parties. The 
civil, or as they are commonly called the 
religious wars of France, exhibit numberless 
and striking instances of the prostitution of 
religion to the purposes of ambition, treason¬ 
able disaffection, or court intrigue. The 
factious nobles attached themselves to the 
Catholic or the Protestant party, as it best 
suited their interests, in order to procure the 
support of the bigotted professors of each re¬ 
ligion, who too seldom perceived themselves 
to be no more than tools in the hand of 
faction, made use of to answer a temporary 
purpose, and then thrown aside as useless. 
Had the bigots, both of the Catholic and the 
Protestant religions, possessed good sense 


60 


enough to see that they were no more than 
automata, moved by political intrigue, and 
factious cabal, they would not so often have 
watered almost every province of the kingdom 
with their blood, for the interests of seditious 
and irreligious demagogues, rather than for 
those of either religion. The more attentive¬ 
ly we peruse the history of mankind, and the 
more accurately we examine the scenes of 
human life, the more clearly we shall perceive 
that both in political and religious commo¬ 
tions, the ignorant, the superstitious, and 
unthinking, are used as tools in performing 
the work of those whose designs are deeper 
laid, and whose views are more extensive. 

Besides that sanguinary malevolence, which 
is commonly denominated persecution, there 
is also another kind of intolerant spirit, which, 
although it does not proceed to acts of vio¬ 
lence against those of a different persuasion, 
is nevertheless productive of a sort of dislike 
and contempt, strongly tending to extinguish 
that universal love of all mankind which 
ought to characterize the professors of Christi¬ 
anity. This sort of intolerant zeal may be 
observed in numbers of otherwise well-mean¬ 
ing persons. Nothing is more common than 
to hear men of a religious turn of mind, 

f 3 


i 


70 


ridiculing and condemning the doctrines of 
other sects, and reprobating those who profess 
them, as if their own were the system of un¬ 
erring truth, and its professors infallible. 

This kind of self-sufficiency in opinion, 
seems to originate in a principle of pride, 
deeply rooted in human nature, which has a 
powerful and extensive influence, and against 
which every professor of religion, of .every 
denomination, ought carefully to guard his 
mind. From this pride, in a great measure, 
arises the satisfaction which men generally 
take in seeing others approve of theiropinions. 
If w e make accurate observations on the dis¬ 
positions of mankind, if we confine these 
observations to ever so contracted, or extend 
them to ever so enlarged a sphere, we shall 
almost invariably perceive that men take a 
pleasure in seeing others adopt their opinions 
in matters of importance, and particularly in 
those of religion. This coincidence they 
consider as a compliment to their under¬ 
standing, and a decided approbation of their 
judgment; difference of opinion, on the con¬ 
trary, seems to imply a tacit impeachment of 
their abilities, and inspires a mixed sentiment 
of contempt and disgust. From such senti¬ 
ments, the transition to persecution is easy, 


-especially when enthusiasm, perverting the 
guidance of conscience, prevails on it to give 
a sanction to intolerance. 

It is reasonable to suppose that every one 
thinks his own religion the best, and that his 
own creed appears, to his view, the most 
rational. This, however, cannot authorize 
him to expect or require that others should 
adopt the same opinions. Whatever con¬ 
viction he may feel in his own mind on the 
subject, he ought to consider that others may 
have as clear a knowledge of divine things as 
himself. The man who presumes to say, the 
religion that I profess is the only true faith, 
and, consequently, all others are erroneous, 
says the same thing in effect, as if he expressed 
himself more explicitly thus, “ I am the only 
wise man ; all other men are fools except those 
who hold the same opinions with me, and 
they are wise because their judgment coin¬ 
cides with mine.” Few of those, perhaps, 
w hose bigotry to a particular system has in¬ 
spired them with intolerant principles, have 
so accurately investigated the operations of 
their own mind, and so minutely analyzed 
their own sentiments, as to perceive the full 
force and influence of this self-sufficient pride 
of human nature. Whether its operation be 
discovered or not, it certainly exists, and has 

f 4 


72 

generally had some share in stirring up the 
spirit of persecution. 

It is worthy of observation, that the Great 
Author of our religion does not condemn, 
with severity, the errors of the Jews, when 
they were no more than misconceptions, 
originating in a mistake of the judgment and 
not in a perverseness of the will. It was only 
when they led to criminality of conduct, that 
those errors became the subjects of his ani¬ 
madversion. The Essenes, were a sect among 
the Jews, whose opinions differed in several 
respects from the original doctrines of the 
Mosaical law. They had superadded a num¬ 
ber of opinions and practices not enjoined by 
that institution ; but their lives were simple, 
and their manners inoffensive ; and we never 
find them condemned by the Divine Instructor 
of men. Even the Sadduces, whose religious 
opinions were the most abhorrent from lhe 
doctrines which he came to inculcate, as they 
neither believed the resurrection of the dead, 
nor the existence of any future state; but 
strictly adhering to the letter of the law, 
limited all their expectation of rewards and 
punishments to the present life, do not appear 
to have been condemned by him on that ac¬ 
count. He made use of every opportunity to 
rectify their mistakes; and, on their inquiring 


73 


whose wife the woman should be after the 
resurrection, who had been successively 
married to seven husbands, he meekly tells 
them that, “ in the resurrection, they neither 
marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as 
the angels.” lie corrects their errors, but lie 
corrects them without any acrimony or re* 
proach. On the contrary, he denounces, on 
every occasion, a woe against the Scribes and 
Pharisees. These, however, were the most 
orthodox teachers of the Jewish religion; and 
he himself gives a sanction to their preach¬ 
ing, in saying, “ the Scribes and Pharisees 
sit in Moses’ seat, whatever, therefore, they 
bid you observe, that observe and do/’ They 
had superadded a number of minutiae to the 
law of Moses, and pretended to preach and 
practice its doctrines and precepts with the 
most rigorous punctuality. Christ does not 
impeach their orthodoxy, but he most de¬ 
cidedly reprobates their conduct, which was 
in the highest degree hypocritical and im¬ 
moral. They imagined that their scrupulous 
adherence to the law, with the addition of a 
multiplicity of supernumerary duties, w ould 
counterbalance their pride, their avarice, and 
extortion. This was what the Redeemer of 
mankind reprobated on every occasion, and 
in the strongest terms, lie does not condemn 


74 


\ 

their punctilious formalities, or their tra¬ 
ditional doctrines, as speculative theories, but 
as they served for a cloak to their vices. He 
does not denounce a woe against them be¬ 
cause they held this or that metaphysical 
opinion; but, “Woe, says he, unto you Scribes 
and Pharisees, hypocrites, because you say 
and do not. J> Opinions considered merely 
as abstract theories existing in the mind, he 
seems to have looked on with indifference; 
but denounces the vengeance of his heavenly 
father against injustice, oppression, and every 
kind of vice and immorality; furnishing to 
his followers a lesson which all ought to 
imitate. All indeed ought not only to ab¬ 
stain from vice themselves, but also on every 

occasion, and in every circumstance of life, 

« 

to discountenance it in others. But fallible 
and imperfect man can claim no right of 
calling others to account for their modes of 
thinking in religious matters. These are 
things that cannot come under the cognizance 
of human authority. They relate entirely 
to the communication between the soul of 
man and his Creator, and of which the dis¬ 
cussion can only appertain to the supreme 
tribunal of the eternal Judge, where every 
error that is not the effect of evil intention, 
criminal neglect, or wilful ignorance, will 



unquestionably meet with indulgence and 
pardon. 

Let human arrogance cast a look to the 
vaulted firmament: let presumptuous man 
view those myriads of stars, the central and 
irradiating suns of innumerable systems: to 
the powers of the eye, let him add those of 
the telescope, and view worlds beyond worlds 
revolving in the immeasurable regions of 
ether: the vast assemblage which our most 
improved instruments enable us to discover, 
in all probability, constitutes no more than 
a point in the immensity of the creation : 
let the mind, recoiling from a view which 
overpowers its faculties, and extends beyond 
all the limits that imagination can fix, 
descend to this globe which we inhabit; this 
minute atom floating amidst myriads of 
worlds: then let calm judgment pronounce 
w hether the inhabitants of this grain of sand 
ought to boast of having discovered the only 
acceptable mode of w orshipping the Creator 
of this stupendous fabric. If a being of a 
superior nature should look down upon man, 
and view his situation, his powers, and all 
the circumstances of his existence, he w ould 
see that his dwelling is a point in infinite 
space, and his life only a moment in the 
circle of eternity: he w ould perceive that the 



successive generations of men pass away like 
fleeting shadows, and are lost like vapours 
dispersed in the air. What then would such 
an observer think of the presumption of a few 
of those grovelling beings, who, although 
frail and fallible, like others of their fellow- 
creatures, and liable to all the weaknesses ot 
the rest of the species, take upon themselves 
to announce to the present and all future 
generations that mankind must, throughout 
eternity, be the victims of divine vengeance, 
if they deviate one tittle from the theories 
which they have formed, or the creeds they 
have composed, to serve as standards, by 
which all men, in all ages, ought to regu¬ 
late their opinions? Shall finite and fallible 
man thus presume to place himself in the 
judgment seat of the Sovereign of the Uni¬ 
verse, snatch from his hand the balance of 
justice, and arrogantly pronounce sentence 
against his fellow men, because their notions 
and his do not exactly correspond? 

Nothing but a narrowness of intellect and 
contracted ideas could ever induce a person 
to condemn his fellow mortals, and to con¬ 
sider them as objects of divine wrath, merely 
because their speculative opinions do not 
coincide with his own. If those presumptu¬ 
ous judges would learn to extend their views 










77 


beyond the confined circle in which they 
move, take a wider survey of the moral world s 
and consider the different nations of man¬ 
kind, whose ideas are modified by a variety 
of accidental causes, as one vast family, 
children of one common father, testifying 
their filial obedience by such various kinds 
of homage, as they imagine to be the most 
acceptable to him, they might acquire that ex¬ 
pansion of mind which would open the heart 
to universal benevolence, the distinguishing 
characteristic of genuine Christianity. 

r l here is not, perhaps, any circumstance 
that reflects greater lustre on the national 
church of this country than her tolerating 
spirit and universal Christian charity. In 
many instances, the church of England has 
shown herself actuated by liberal principles, 
and the most extensive benevolence; but 
perhaps in none more than in her generous 
protection of t he persecuted and exiled clergy 
of France. Laying aside all narrow and 
illiberal prejudices, the clergy, nobility, 
gentry, and every class of enlightened Pro¬ 
testants, received as Christian brethren, the 
oppressed and persecuted clergy of a hostile 
country and a different communion, thus ex¬ 
hibiting an instance of liberal-minded benevo¬ 
lence, unparalleled since the first establish- 


78 


meat of Christianity, at once evincing their 
enlightened notions, and setting before the 
eyes of all the world an example which cannot 

fail of operating on the minds of thinking 

■ 

men, in countries where the anti-christian 
spirit of intolerance yet exists. The sway 
of that infernal demon is now, how ever, much 
weakened : there is, indeed, every reason to 
hope that it will, in a short time, be entirely 
annihilated, and that the term religious per¬ 
secution will no longer be met with, except 
in the ensanguined pages of history, the dis¬ 
graceful records of fanaticism and ignorance. 













ESSAY VI. 


• .1 * • ; i > i * / - . ; \ *y , 

OX ECCLESIASTICAL EMOLUMENTS. 


There are few subjects of discourse more 
frequently brought forward than the pro¬ 
priety of the great revenues annexed to the 
church, in this and most other countries of 
Europe ; and few, perhaps, of which the dis¬ 
cussion is farther beyond the reach of popular 
comprehension. Nothing is more common 
than to give, without any examination, a 
decided opinion on a matter of so great im¬ 
portance in the system of civilized Europe; 
and the meanest peasant, or journeyman 
mechanic, pretends to determine the point 
as readily as the experienced civilian, who, 
from youth to age, has employed himself in 
studying the regulations of society, and the 
origin and rights of property. These classes 
of people seldom fail to express, in the most 
unequivocal language, their entire disappro¬ 
bation of the wealth of the clergy ; and con¬ 
sider the revenues of the church as an abuse 
of religion, or a species of monopoly. This 
has long been the language of numbers of the 


80 


lower orders of the community; and wherever 
the revolutionizing principle, which of late 
has been so prevalent on the continent, has 
had an opportunity of producing its effects, 
the consequences of this opinion have been 
too conspicuous to escape the attention of 
any philosophical observser of those scenes, 
which, during the last fifteen years,* have 
rapidly passed in review on the great theatre 
of Europe. As it is evident that the sub¬ 
version of all established systems of religion, 
and the sequestration of ecclesiastical pro¬ 
perty have invariably constituted a part of 
the revolutionary plan; as it is equally evi¬ 
dent that the overthrow of the religious 
establishment has, among modern revolu¬ 
tionists, been uniformly contemplated in 
connexion with the subversion of civil govern¬ 
ment; and as many have been disposed to 
view, with an unfavourable eye, the emolu¬ 
ments of the clergy, without understanding 
either the nature of the subject, or the ten¬ 
dency of the principle ; on this threefold 
consideration, the rights and emoluments of 
the church, and the tenure by which they are 
held, merit an impartial investigation. 


This was written in the beginning of the year 1805. 





81 


In the revolutionary theory, it appears to 
be an established maxim, that the revenues 
of the church are public property, and re- 
vokable at pleasure. For this doctrine, how¬ 
ever, it appears difficult to discover, in the 
civil constitutions of Europe, any just or 
legal grounds, or any principle that can 
establish its validity in the eye of unpre¬ 
judiced inquiry; and if it be examined by 
the invariable rules of moral justice, the 
difficulty of finding any thing that can give 
it a sanction, w ill not be easily surmounted, 
However the matter may appear in a super¬ 
ficial view, it will, upon mature consideration, 
be seen in a different light. In examining 
the nature of ecclesiastical tenure, it will, in 
order to exhibit a just statement of the case, 
be found requisite to take a retrospective 
view of the origin, the division, and transfer 
of property, as determined by the course of 
events, and the regulations of civil society. 
All that men possess is originally the gift of 
the Creator of the universe, who lias pro¬ 
fusely spread abroad the abundance of this 
terraqueous globe, as the common property 
of all the human race; and left to the ex¬ 
ertions and arbitration of man the division 
and appropriation of the particular shares of 
the general stock : Every one, therefore, has 


G 




82 


seized what he was able in the universal 
scramble. It was not, however, in the nature 
of things, that all should be equally success¬ 
ful in the great contest for power and pro¬ 
perty, which has continued through so many 
ages, and will only end with the termination 
of human existence. The difference of op¬ 
portunity, abilities, and exertion, has caused 
the difference that we see in the fortunes 
both of nations and individuals; and the same 
causes will for ever operate in the same man¬ 
ner, and produce the same effect. If an equal 
division of property w ere made at this day 
throughout the globe, the same inequality 
that we now see would immediately begin to 
take place; and in less than a century, 
another generation would witness the same 
distinctions and the same difference of con¬ 
ditions that the world at present displays. 

If those who first took the pains to culti¬ 
vate the earth were yet in existence, the 
propriety of the soil would, by the law of 
nature and justice, be theirs; or if their 
lineal descendants could be traced, it would, 
by the laws of inheritance, established in 
society, belong to them, or to those to whom 
they had by some mode of transfer alienated 
their right. But the successive revolutions 
which have happened in every country, 




83 


where any division and appropriation of pro¬ 
perty have ever taken place, have long; ago 
annulled all such claims by the extirpation 
or spoliation of the ancient possessors. There 
is not now a single acre of land in the posses¬ 
sion bf the lineal descendants of its first culti¬ 
vators and possessors, nor a single Country 
under the government of its ancient rulers. 
In some countries, revolutions have been 
frequent, and wealth and power often trans¬ 
ferred. In all those that are civilized, this 
change has repeatedly taken place. Except¬ 
ing the Arabs of the desert, the Tartar tribes, 
and other wandering or savage hordes, among 
whom no permanent division or appropria¬ 
tion of the land has ever been made, the 
history of every nation exhibits instances of 
its subjugation, and of the translation of its 
power and wealth to other hands. Among 
the ancients, private property was not, as at 
present, respected in War: armed colonies 
frequently left their ancient seats* went in 
quest of new settlements, and made war on 
a principle of rapine and extermination. 

With the revolutions which have taken 
place in Europe, we are tolerably well ac¬ 
quainted. The Romans subjugated the south¬ 
ern parts ; and after them the northern tribes 
impelling one another forward, exterminated 

o 2 







84 


a part, and dispossessed the rest of the ancient 
proprietors. History scarcely records any 
thing else than a series of continual changes, 
and a succession of new masters, who ac¬ 
quired their possessions by conquest, and 
their riches by spoil. One of the most cele¬ 
brated writers of the last century remarks, 
that not a single family in Rome can trace its 
genealogy from the ancient Romans. The 
present great families of Italy, are of Gothic 
extraction : the greatest part of the posterity 
of the conquerors of the world are sunk into 
the mass of the Italian peasantry; and some of 
the lineal descendants of the Csesars are 
probably among the strolling picture-sellers 
whom we see dispersed throughout every 
country of Europe. 

In the ages of migration and conquest, 
which terminated the existence of the Roman 
empire, the conquering chiefs divided the 
lands among their followers, according to 
their rank, their merit, and the services they 
had rendered. At the same time, or soon 
after, revenues were annexed to the church ; 
or those which it already possessed under the 
Roman empire, were secured to it by the 
conquerors. These divisions, confirmed by 
divers regulations, constitute the basis of all 
territorial rights, both public and private, 


85 

although a variety of changes have succes¬ 
sively taken place. 

In the division of property, the conquerors 
of countries had the same right to distribute a 
part to ecclesiastical as to military persons; 
and the former hold their possessions by the 
same tenure. Voltaire, with his usual vi¬ 
vacity of expression, demands what right the 
church could claim to one-tenth of his estate 
at Fernay, and whether the Supreme Being 
ever signed a deed of conveyance to that 
effect. To this reasoning of the French phi¬ 
losopher, how acute soever it may seem, the 
answer is obvious. The Supreme Being has 
not, except in the ordinary course of his 
providence, made any division of property, 
nor appropriated by any special ordinance 
any share either to nations, communities, or 
individuals ; but the same civil power, and 
the same legal distribution, assigned the 
tenth part of that estate to the church, which 
gave to Voltaire the other nine: the rights 
were consequently in nature and origin the 
same, and the injustice of dispossessing either 
party would certainly have been equal. 

Divine Providence has ordained, and the 
structure of society requires, that some indi¬ 
viduals, as well as some nations, should 
possess a greater share of wealth and power 

g 3 


80 


than others; and the necessary connexions 
and mutual dependencies of social inter¬ 
course are strengthened by this inequality, 
the unavoidable consequence of the perpetual 
scramble of so many myriads of competitors, 
if pre?eminence, however, can be the lot of 
only a few; it is, in a political and moral 
point of view, of little importance to society, 
whether property be in the hands of an 
ecclesiastical or a lay proprietor. To the 
public, the effects are precisely the same. 
The lands of a Bishop are cultivated in the 
same manner as those of a nobleman ; they 
furnish the same employment to the indus¬ 
trious husbandman ; their produce is brought 
to the market, and helps to feed the people. 

If an estate lie in my neighbourhood, to 
which I cannot claim any right, and of which 
I cannot in consequence expect, and ought 
not to covet the possession, it is difficult to 
conceive how it should be any thing more 
than a matter of indifference to me, whether 
it belong to the clergyman of the parish, or to 
the Lord of the Manor, to the Bishop of the 
diocese, or to a lay Baron. So long as I have 
no right to the possession, how can I invali¬ 
date that of the possessor? 

Besides the grants made to the church, by 
those in whom was vested the disposal of 


87 


lands, in the infancy of the political systems 
of Europe, and of which the vaiidity cannot 
on any principles of jurisprudence be called 
in question, many annexations to its revenues 
were the bequests of individuals ; and testa¬ 
mentary donations have in all ages, and in 
every civilized society, been accounted in¬ 
violable, and supposed to confer a legal right 
of the most unquestionable nature. Those 
bequests, it must be allowed, were too often 
dictated by superstition as a compensation 
for crimes, and, therefore, were judiciously 
placed under proper restrictions by the mort¬ 
main act, which deprived the sinner of the 
fallacious hope, of indulging through life, his 
propensity to vice, and then bribing heaven 
in his last moments at the expence of his 
successors. Such a restriction was exceedingly 
well adapted to the times; but it did not 
invalidate ; he testamentary donations made 
prior to the act, nor such as did not come 
under its operation ; and it has no influence 
on any of the ecclesiastical revenues of the 
present day. 

It appears, therefore, that as the division 
and appropr ation of property originate from 
the various success of the efforts of mankind 
for its acquisition ; depend on a multiplicity 
of adventitious ciicumstances; and are sanc- 

g 4 


88 


tioned by the regulations of civil society; the 
possessions of the church being granted by 
the same authority, held by the same tenure, 
and guaranteed on the same principles of 
moral and political justice as every other kind 
of property; the clergy have the same right to 
their revenues as lay proprietors to their lands 
and hereditaments; and that the seizure of the 
church lands must be as unjustifiable as the 
confiscation of those of any other innocent 
members of the community. 

As the revenues of the church are not at¬ 
tached to individuals, but to the hierarchy, 
the criminality even of its members could not 
justify their alienation. In justice, the in¬ 
dividuals alone could be obnoxious to the 
laws, but the community and its property 
ought always to remain inviolate. 

Ecclesiastical history, it must be allowed, 
affords several instances of the seizure of the 
revenues of the church in different countries; 
but those arbitrary proceedings are somewhat 
difficult to justify by any solid reasoning, or 
on any principles of equity, which we should 
think it safe to apply to any other cases of 
possession. The system adopted in some 
countries of seizing the lands of the church, 
and fixing the ecclesiastical stipends in 
money, is ruinous to the interests of the 


89 


Christian clergy, and tends to the degradation 
of the clerical character by causing the 
ministers of the altar to be considered as a 
sort of servants of the public. It also renders 
the church more burdensome to the lower 
orders of the people, of whom, every indi¬ 
vidual, in proportion to his consumption, 
furnishes his contribution to the national 
treasury, out of which, those salaries must 
be paid, than it is found, where lands are 
assigned for the clergy, and where it is con¬ 
sequently productive of no greater inconveni¬ 
ence to the people at large, that an estate is in 
the hands of a Bishop or an Archbishop, than 
if it were in the hands of a Marquis or a Duke. 
The conversion of ecclesiastical revenues, into 
pecuniary stipends, is also in other respects 
pregnant with certain bad consequences, of 
which, although it be impossible to calculate 
the full extent, we may, from preceding cir¬ 
cumstances form a probable conjecture. No 
one is ignorant of the prodigious influx of 
money, and the consequent diminution of 
its value, which has, within the last three 
centuries, taken place. This is a circum¬ 
stance which has had a fatal operation on a 
number of public institutions, to the support 
of which, a fixed stipend in money had been 
assigned. This is verified in every part of 


90 


Europe, and particularly in Great Britain, 
where a number of charitable institutions, 
which were once of great importance and 
benefit to the public, are now dwindled down 
into insignificancy, and some of them con¬ 
sidered so little worth attention as to be 
entirely lost, or converted to purposes totally 
different from those for which they were first 
intended. This observation is no where 
more frequently verified than in endowed 
schools. To many of these in country parishes, 
stipends pecuniary of ten or twelve pounds 
per annum, have by some benevolent persons 
been annexed, which, through the unfortunate 
mistake of fixing the donation in money, of 
which the value is continually diminishing, 
instead of land, which will ever maintain its 
relative value, have become of little use or 
consideration. The salaries above mentioned, 
of which some were annexed to those institu¬ 
tions two or three centuries ago, were at that 
period sufficient for the maintenance of a 
person of learning and virtue, to superintend 
the education of youth, but are by reason of 
the diminished value of money, in conse¬ 
quence of the influx of wealth, by the dis¬ 
covery of the American mines, and the ex¬ 
tension of commerce, now become so incon¬ 
siderable as not to be w orth the attention of 


91 


any person of merit. Such would have been 
the case with ecclesiastical revenues, had they 
been originally fixed in pecuniary stipends 
instead of landed property. If we carefully 
investigate the history of Christianity, in 
connexion with the circumst ances of past and 
present times, it will lead us to an observa¬ 
tion, which every one, perhaps, has not made, 
and strongly induce us to think, that if the 
church establishment had not been put on a 
respectable footing, by judiciously assigning 
a part of the landed property of each country 
for its support, the Christian religion, de¬ 
graded and rendered contemptible by the 
abject situation of its ministers, would, before 
this day, have either been totady extinguish¬ 
ed, or have degenerated into a mass of super¬ 
stitions and absurdities, which would have 
reduced it nearly to the level of Paganism. 
It is impossible to foresee the future circum¬ 
stances of the Christian church, and the effects 
of the enterprising and commercial spirit of 
the European world; or how far these may 
be counteracted by the rising greatness of 
America; and to calculate the relative value of 
money in ages to come, liable as it is, to be 
increased or diminished by various unforeseen 
events: this, however, may be, with safety 


Q2 


affirmed, that if the same causes continue to 
operate to the same extent, the consequence 
must be, that the clergy of those countries 
where the church lands have been sequestered, 
and salaries in money substituted as a com¬ 
pensation, w ill, in the course of a century, be 
reduced almost to mendicity. This will 
compel them, at successive periods, to petition 
the state for an augmentation, which will 
probably be sometimes granted with reluct¬ 
ance, and always with parsimony, and by 
tending to increase the public expenditure, 
and render the taxes more burdensome, will 
constantly excite popular discontent, and 
cause religion to be considered as a grievance. 

Among the multitude, it is common to 
adopt opinions without examination, and 
without reflecting on the consequences to 
which they lead; and many are not aware 
that the idea of depriving the church of its 
revenues, involves a revolutionary principle 
of the most ruinous and anarchical tendency. 
The same civil organization that guarantees 
the possessions of the prelate as well as of 
the nobleman, secures the parish glebe to the 
vicar, and to the lowest democratical free¬ 
holder the possession of his single acre. If 
the rights of one order of the community can 











93 


be violated, or its property invaded, what 
security against a similar infringement can 
be claimed or expected by others ? 

In a free country, and under a well orga¬ 
nized constitution, every man enjoys privi¬ 
leges, which, through contracted information 
and want of attention, he is often incapable 
of appreciating, and of which he might be as 
readily deprived as the greatest spiritual or 
temporal proprietor might be of his ecclesi¬ 
astical or secular emoluments. It is the same 
system of civil legislature, accommodated to 
the general and the particular interests of the 
community, suited to all its gradations and 
extended to all its ramifications, which has 
attached to the higher orders their property, 
that secures to the farmer and the trades¬ 
man the accumulations of their industry, and 
to the day-labourer the possession and enjoy¬ 
ment of his wages, the fruit of his toil. In 
society all security rests on the same basis, 
and originates from the same source. Every 
thing that tends to destroy the equilibrium 
of rank and subordination, and to violate the 
sacred right of property, is consequently 
pregnant with disorder and productive of 
anarchy. 




94 


ESSAY VII. 

ON THE CAUSE OF THE DIVERSITY OF RE¬ 
LIGIOUS OPINIONS , AND THE INDUCEMENT 
IT AFFORDS TO MUTUAL TOLERATION AND 
UNIVERSAL CHARITY.* 


The difference of religious opinions among 
men, is a necessary effect produced by the 
operation of causes entirely adventitious. The 
orthodoxy of our belief depends on a thousand 
circumstances, of which the disposal has 
never been in our own power. The same 
person who, in Denmark or Sweden, is a 
Lutheran, would, if he had been educated in 
Spain, Portugal, or Italy, have been a Roman 
Catholic ; in Russia, a member of the Greek 
church, &c. If we consider how powerfully, 
and in some cases, how irresistibly external 
circumstances operate on the human mind, 
we shall not be astonished at the diversity of 


* “ Every remark in this Essay on the cause of the diversity, &c. is 
creditable to the discernment and liberality of the Author .”—Monthly 
Review for July 1807, 
















95 


religious opinions, nor pride ourselves on 
any supposed superiority of our own. Differ¬ 
ent persons are so differently circumstanced, 
that it is impossible they should all have the 
same ideas, and form the same opinions on 
subjects of abstract speculation. 

If a thousand persons, whose optics are 
all exactly alike, should contemplate any 
landscape in the same point of view, from the 
same station, and through the same medium, 
they would all see the same objects, in the 
same proportion, and the same arrangement; 
and if their imagination and retentive facul¬ 
ties were perfectly similar, they would form 
and retain in their minds the same picture. 
If, on the contrary, either the observers had 
different optics, or contemplated the same 
landscape from different stations, they would 
neither discover all the same objects nor the 
same disposition. Many of the objects that 
would present themselves clearly and dis¬ 
tinctly to some of them, would be quite con¬ 
cealed from the sight of others; and to the 
different spectators, those that were visible 
would appear of different magnitudes, and 
placed in a different manner. The observers 
would consequently form in their minds 
different pictures of the vast assemblage. It 
is not only reasonable to suppose, but ex- 



90 


peri men tally evident, that our views of specu¬ 
lative things are perfectly analogous to our 
manner of seeing material objects, and that 
when considered in different lights, and 
contemplated in different points of view, the 
same assemblage presents itself in a different 
manner to the mental as well as to the 
corporeal eye. 

It appears to be an unquestionable fact, that 
nature, or to speak more religiously, and 
even more rationally, the God of Nature, who 
has displayed an infinite variety in all his 
works, has modelled the intellectual world 
with the same diversifying energy that he has 
so unequivocally manifested in the formation 
of the material system. In the latter we 
perceive the immense machine of the universe 
divided into vast compartments, the earth 
covered with vegetation, and crowded with 
animal life. The whole assemblage of created 
things is infinitely diversified. Animals and 
vegetables are divided into genius and species. 
The individuals of each species are formed 
with a striking resemblance; but at the same 
time are all conspicuously different in their 
minute organization. It is, indeed, w onder¬ 
ful to contemplate the infinite variety dis¬ 
played in every part of organized matter. 
No tw o trees, nor even two leaves of the same 


97 


tree were ever seen exactly alike, nor two men 
whose faces exactly resembled each other; 
and the same diversity is observable through¬ 
out the whole creation. Reason and ex¬ 
perience lead us to conclude, that as great a 
variety exists in the mental faculties, as in 
the exterior formation of the human species ; 
and that he who gave to all men their in¬ 
tellectual powers, alone knows how far he has 
enabled them to investigate the truth. 

Notwithstanding the diversity which un¬ 
questionably exists in the organization of 
human minds, the difference of human cir¬ 
cumstances appears to be far greater, far 
more conspicuous, and to have a much more 
decided influence on the operations of the 
intellect. The variety which exists in the 
combinations of human circumstances, ex¬ 
tends as far as the sphere of human existence, 
and perhaps no two individuals were ever 
circumstanced exactly alike. In the moral, 
as in the physical world, when these varia¬ 
tions are trivial, their influence is proportion- 
ably small, and scarcely perceptible; but 
where the difference is decided and striking, 
its effects are distinguishable and important. 

To exhibit a just representation of the 
effects of moral circumstances on human 
opinions, we need only bring forward to dis- 

h 


98 


tinct inspection, and trace to their original 
source the religious ideas of an Englishman, a 
Swede, an Italian, and a Muscovite. Those 
persons educated in different countries, and 
under different religious establishments, 
might, in this respect, be compared to ob¬ 
servers taking a view of the city of London 
from the different stations of Blackheath, the 
Surry hills, High gate, or the crown of West¬ 
minster or Blackfriars Bridge. Each would 
have a grand prospect of the city displayed 
before him ; but to each it would appear very 
different. The collective group of objects 
would appear differently arranged, and many 
of those which would be conspicuous and 
shew themselves to the greatest advantage 
from one of the stations, would, in another 
be totally concealed from the view. If these 
observers were perspective or landscape pain¬ 
ters, their drawings would exhibit very 
different representations of the British me¬ 
tropolis ; and no one, whatever abilities he 
might possess, could be a competent judge 
of the respective merits of their performances, 
unless he contemplated the appearance of 
the city from the same stations. A perfect 
analogy appears to exist between the mental 
and the corporeal optics, and, therefore, we 
ought not to presume to judge either of the 


99 


understanding or the sincerity of those who 
differ from us in opinion, unless we could 
place ourselves in the same situation, and 
contemplate the subjects of disquisition in 
the same point of view in w hich they have 
been accustomed to see them exhibited. This 
consideration might check our presumptuous 
decisions on the merits of our own cause; 
restrain our precipitancy in condemning, 
unheard, those who exercise the right of 
thinking, as well as ourselves ; and confound 
that pride of the human mind which thinks 
its own conclusions infallible. 

It is unreasonable and unjust to esteem it 
criminal in others, not to see things in the 
'same light as we do ; and to condemn them 
because they do not perceive the full force of 
the arguments which convince our under¬ 
standing, and determine the formation of our 
religious theories. Ought we not rather to 
regard them as travellers, ignorantly and 
innocently gone out of the way, and be¬ 
wildered in a labyrinth, w ithout having been 
fortunate enough to find the clue of extrica- 
tion? Ought w e not, w ith the most affection¬ 
ate regard, to give them the best instructions 
w e are able; and, in a friendly manner, 
submit to their consideration the reasons 
that induce us to entertain opinions different 

u 2 


i 


100 


from theirs ? If our arguments do not operate 
/so forcibly on their minds as on ours, let us 
; acknowledge, at least, the possibility that we 
may err as well as others. Let us remember 
that infallibility is not an attribute of hu¬ 
manity. If our conviction of the truth of 
our own theory be so strong, as scarcely to 
permit us to suppose a possibility of mistake, 
which is certainly the case with many good 
men of very different persuasions, let us con¬ 
clude, that those who cannot perceive the 
cogency of such arguments as irrisistibly flash 
conviction on our minds, possess that degree 
of light and knowledge which infinite wisdom 
in the boundless variety of its dispensation 
has thought fit to bestow on them. This is 
religious zeal, tempered as it ought always to 
be by Christian charity, which is nothing less 
than universal benevolence. 

It is too common to attribute what we call 
errors in religion to insincerity, neglect of 
inquiry, or some other wilful fault in those by 
whom they are entertained. This kind of 
presumptuous decision proceeds from that 
spirit of self-sufficiency which arrogates to 
itself the right of judging others in open 
violation of the divine prerogative. It does 
not appear to have been the design of the 
Supreme Being, that all mankind should be 


♦ 



101 


of the same opinion in religious matters any 
more than on other subjects of abstract specu¬ 
lation. If such had been his will, it could 
not have failed of its accomplishment. He 
could have formed the human mind with 
powers adequate to the investigation of every 
subject, and the discovery of every truth, and 
have so arranged human circumstances, that 
men should have seen the objects of intel¬ 
lectual perception in the same point of view. 
Infinite wisdom has proportioned all our 
senses to their objects in the manner the most 
perfectly adapted to our well-being, and 
could, with equal facility, have established 
the same unerring proportion between our 
intellectual powers and the subjects of their 
inquiry. The Almighty, after bestowing on 
us all the knowledge necessary to our comfort 
and happiness, has left the investigation of 
things more abstruse for the exercise of our 
mental faculties. 

An important consideration offers itself to 
the mind of every one who has the least 
knowledge of mankind, either from reading 
or observation. Among Christians of every 
denomination, there are found a great number 
of men of the strongest intellect, of con¬ 
summate abilities, profound erudition, and 
exemplary piety, whose exalted genius soars 

ii 3 


102 


above the mists of prejudice, whose disin¬ 
terestedness exempts them from the imputa¬ 
tion of disguising their opinion, or making 
an hypocritical profession from interested 
motives. Many of those have employed their 

time and their talents in the sincerest in- 

/ 

quiries after religious truth, and yet, ma¬ 
terially differ in their speculative doctrines. 
Not a few of them have also given convincing 
proofs of their sincerity, and of the force of 
their convictions by suffering the most cruel 
persecutions, and, in some instances, death 
itself, for their adherence to opinions dia¬ 
metrically opposite to one another. It is 
evident, that some of them were mistaken. 
W hen two persons disagree in opinion, on 
any subject whatever, although both may be 
wrong, it is certain that both cannot be right. 
There are, however, numbers of persons who 
have all the abilities and means of investi¬ 
gating truth, of which human nature is 
capable, and which human circumstances 
seem to afford, and yet entertain opinions 
widely different in regard to doctrinal points. 
If plain and undeniable facts be admitted as 
grounds of reasoning, it will, from these, 
appear evident that uniformity of human 
opinion is inconsistent with the nature of 
things here below ; and that speculative error 


103 


being involuntary and unavoidable, is con¬ 
sequently pardonable. 

Differences in religious opinions become 
criminal only when they are made use of for 
pernicious purposes. Scarcely any circum¬ 
stance of the moral world exhibits a more 
disgusting picture of the depravity of human 
nature, than the frequent prostitution of 
religion to the very worst of purposes. His¬ 
tory, both ancient and modern, however, 
shows that this has too often been the case. 
That it was frequently so among the Pagans 
is not a matter of wonder. A religion founded 
on principles, for the most part purely imagi¬ 
nary, inculcating into the minds of the 
populace no other worship than that of ideal 
divinities, in expectation of temporal rewards, 
and extolling false heroism, and an extrava¬ 
gant thirst after fame as the highest pitch of 
human virtue, was a fit engine of power and 
policy. The Jewish religion, although of 
divine original, was under the management 
of depraved and vicious men, converted to 
interested purposes, and made subservient to 
temporal interests; and among Christians, 
freedom of religious opinion has too often 
been pleaded as a pretext for disturbing 
social order. Among the Jews, the prophets, 
false as well as true, made no scruple of 

h 4 


104 


sanctioning, with the name of the God of 
Israel, the predictions which they uttered to 
please a designing Prince, or a discontented 
people. As the Jews, before the captivity, 
had very obscure notions of a future state, 
and did not, in general, appear to extend 
their hopes or fears beyond the limits of the 
present life, they might, perhaps, not fully 
discover the enormity of such a procedure, 
especially when they imagined it to be con¬ 
ducive to the national good, or their own 
political views. Among Christians, however, 
none can be ignorant of the criminality of 
prostituting religion to interest, and making 
use of its name to sanction sedition and excite 
commotions. The gospel dispensation is so 
clear, in regard to essentials, and points out 
so plainly the line of conduct which every 
man ought to pursue, in order to be a good 
subject and a good member of society, that 
none can err in that respect. The moral 
doctrines it inculcates are so intelligible to 
every capacity, that there are, in this respect, 
no dissenters among Christians : all the 
differences that exist relate to speculative 
opinions, and of these every man has a right 
to form his own. The human mind, in re- 
gard to the formation and association of its 
ideas, although influenced by a number of 


105 


external and adventitious circumstances, is 
independent in the full extent of our con¬ 
ceptions of independence ; man being ac¬ 
countable to none but God for his opinions, 
so long as they produce no actions detrimental 
to the interests and peace of society. When 
religious opinions are used to excite commo¬ 
tions, and subvert established order, they 
degenerate from intellectual theories to active 
criminality, tend to destroy the benevolent 
influence of Christianity, and form volcanos 
of mischief in the community pregnant with 
consequences destructive to the happiness of 
mankind. 


\ 


106 


ESSAY VIII. 

* * * . \. ’ ' * * ’ * ’ ' i * / -3 

ON EDUCATION. 

Education is a term of an extensive- 
signification, involving subjects of the greatest 
importance, and exciting considerations of 
the most interesting nature. In one sense it 
may, as Cicero observes, be said to commence 
at the cradle and end only at the grave, and 
to comprise the whole mass of knowledge 
acquired through life by all the various means 
of information. In our common acceptation 
of the word, we do not, however, give to its 
meaning so great an extension, but generally 
use it to signify what is learnt during that 
period of youth which is peculiarly devoted 
to the acquisition of knowledge, under the 
inspection and instruction of masters in 
different branches of literature and science. 
This is unquestionably one of the most im¬ 
portant periods of life, as from its manage¬ 
ment the whole picture of human conduct 
very frequently takes its colouring. As the 
principles which it inculcates in different 
ages, in different countries, and among dif- 


107 


ferent sects, parties, and classes of people, 
are not only very often radically different, 
but sometimes diametrically opposite ; from 
this variety results, in a great measure, the 
striking diversity of general ideas and current 
opinions. The prejudices of education gene¬ 
rally cleave to the mind through life, at least, 
it requires great strength of understanding, as 
well as extensive information, to shake off 
their influence. 

But, without examining the principles of 
sects and parties, whether political or re¬ 
ligious, or tracing Ihe current opinions of 
different ages and countries, it is sufficient 1o 
observe that various plans of education have 
been adopted in our own times, and in our 
own country, where the same end is proposed; 
but different methods of obtaining it have 
been tried. The grand question, however, 
setting aside minute details and trifling dis¬ 
tinctions in the sj^stem of juvenile instruction, 
seems to turn on the advantages and disad¬ 
vantages of public and private tuition. 

A public education is generally supposed 
to be accompanied with some considerable 
advantages, of which a private tuition is 
necessarily destitue. It is, in the first place, 
esteemed conducive to the acquisition of that 
easy confidence which is so generally ap- 


108 


plauded, and is unquestionably of great use 
in life. If the supposition, that this quality 
is attainable in a public and unattainable in 
a private education, could be proved justi¬ 
fiable, it would powerfully contribute to 
cast the balance in favour of the former. 
This bold and easy assurance, if not carried 
beyond the bounds of moderation and de¬ 
cency, has, in every transaction of life, a de¬ 
cided advantage over that bashful timidity 
'which totally disqualifies a person for making 
any figure in public. It is not, however, to 
be acquired in a seminary of turbulent boys, 
among whom, noise and impudence exclude 
reason and reflection, and are the principal 
ingredients in their social intercourse, but by 
a gradual and well-timed introduction into 
company, where various kinds of conversation 
contribute to amusement and instruction; 
and where the youthful mind may not only 
imbibe a variety of knowledge, and learn to 
form just ideas of a number of things apper¬ 
taining to life, but also acquire a decency of 
behaviour, and a propriety and elegance of 
expression, not to be learnt in a tumultuous 
rabble of petulent children. It has indeed, 
been frequently observed, that those w ho have 
been educated in public schools are generally 
as bashful and timid in any other company 


/ 


109 

than that of their playmates, as those whose 
education has been more private, which shows 
that various conversation with the world can 
alone inspire a well-grounded and becoming 
assurance in discourse and behaviour, which 
is something very different from the trouble¬ 
some and noisy petulence of ignorant self- 
sufficiency. 

The whole sum of the advantages of a 
public education may then be reduced to 
these two particulars; the emulation that 
competition is supposed to excite among num¬ 
bers engaged in the same pursuits, and the 
friendships and connexions which are often 
formed in public seminaries, and are some¬ 
times of real utility in the future transactions 
of life. The former of these advantages, 
however, exists in imagination rather than in 
reality. Every one who is acquainted with 
the dispositions of children, may easily 
perceive that their predominant inclination 
is not love of fame, but love of ease, of 
thoughtless indolence of mind ; and crowded 
schools afford too many opportunities of in¬ 
dulging this propensity. The attention of 
the master is too much divided to be able to 
watch narrowly over the conduct and progress 
of his pupils, to direct minutely their applica¬ 
tion, to recal vagrant inattention, and excite 


110 


dull stupidity to active exertion. Let every 
person who has common sense, and is suf¬ 
ficiently skilled in arithmetical computations 
to calculate the number of minutes in a day, 
consider what portion of time can be allotted, 
to the instruction of each individual, and he 
will be at no loss to account for the slow 
progress made by the generality of pupils. 

It is commonly supposed that emulation 
and exertion may be excited by a skilful and 
appropriate application of applause and re¬ 
proof, by well-timed exhortations and various 
other means. This may certainly be done, 
in regard to such as are of a docile temper, 
and endowed with genius ; but among the 
majority of children, no encouragements, no 
reproofs, no inducements whatever, will pro¬ 
duce any more than a very transient effect. 
Indolent inattention will predominate over 
every consideration, and sluggish indifference 
w ill impede every endeavour of the precep¬ 
tor, whose attention is directed to such a 
multiplicity of objects, and divided among 
so great a number of pupils, that he cannot 
strictly inspect the operations of each mind 
that he undertakes to form. 

Most of those inconveniences may be pre¬ 
vented by a private education. The judicious 
preceptor, who has only a small number of 


% 


Ill 


pupils under his care, w ill be able to watch 
the gradual progress of each ; to lead them 
forward step by step in literary improve¬ 
ments, and to observe the progressive unfold¬ 
ings of the mind. That stupid inattention 
and sluggish indifference, so common in 
youth, may be easily overcome by a teacher 
who has only ten or a dozen scholars, but 
can never be eradicated if his attention be 
divided among fifty or sixty, when, con¬ 
sequently, not more than seven or eight 
minutes in a day can be devoted to the in¬ 
struction of each, a portion of time much too 
small for the purpose of directing application, 
communicating knowledge, and rectifying 
m i sapp rehensi o n. 

In general reasoning we must adhere to 
general principles, and ground our arguments 
upon general observations. Some young per¬ 
sons are of so docile a disposition, and of so 
comprehensive a genius, that, in whatever 
seminary, or under whatever mode of in¬ 
struction they are placed, no impediment can 
hinder them from making a considerable ad¬ 
vancement. Some, from the first dawn of 
reason, display a love of learning, an accuracy 
of observation, a steadiness of attention, and 
a quickness of comprehension, which, with 
little instruction, will enable them to make a 


112 


rapid progress in any branch of science or 
literature proposed to them as an object ol 
laudable pursuit; but we must always form 
our estimates from the majority, and every 
one who has been conversant in schools, must 
have observed, that the far greater number 
of children have little or no propensity to 
learning. Many are so far from desiring to 
make any acquisitions of that kind, that they 
will learn nothing but what is inculcated by 
instructions a thousand times repeated; and 
where the pupils are numerous, these con¬ 
tinual repetitions are impossible. The multi¬ 
plicity of business causes many things to be 
neglected, and several minutiae in the detail 
of education to be far less attended to than is 
requisite. 

Emulation is more easily excited among a 
small number of pupils than in a crowded 
seminary, where every artifice is used, and 
commonly with success, to elude the master’s 
vigilance, to indulge habits of inattention, 
and to conceal negligence, error, and misap¬ 
prehension. It has been generally observed, 
that large and populous cities are for the 
most part more corrupt than small towns and 
country villages. A numerous population 
hides vice and irregularity from public ob¬ 
servation, and affords to crimes an equal 


113 


facility of commission and concealment. 
Among children, as among men, irregularities 
pass unnoticed in the crowd: emulation is 
extinguished among the multitude of loi¬ 
terers : attention is distracted by bustle and 
noisy tumult, and indolence excused and 
sanctioned by generality of example. 

The friendships contracted at public 
schools, have always been considered as one 
of the peculiar advantages of a public educa¬ 
tion; and this consideration, it must be ac¬ 
knowledged, is of some importance. Those 
connexions, indeed, are for the most part 
soon forgotten after the parties are separated, 
and have exchanged their juvenile pastimes 
for the more serious concerns of life; but 
sometimes they have proved permanent, and 
when almost obliterated, have been revived by 
accident, and produced important effects. 
These friendships of early life, however, are 
generally formed among those who are suf¬ 
ficiently advanced in years to be capable of 
receiving lasting impressions, and not among 
such as are in the state of childhood, in which 
the mind tickle, puerile, and capricious* is 
incapable of a durable attachment. 

To conduct the education of youth of both 
sexes upon rational principles, those who can 
afford flie expence would do well to provide 

i 



114 


a private tutor for their children during the 
early part of their education; but when they 
have made a tolerable progress, and attained 
to an aj>*e of observation and reflection, they 

o * 

certainly ought to be placed in some reputable 
seminary, w here they may finish their studies, 
and begin their entrance into life. This 
would be the most proper and eligible mode 
of education, and is, indeed, the only method 
that is w ell calculated for attaining the grand 
object of all juvenile instruction, the initia¬ 
tion of youth in the knowledge of literature 
and of the world. By the leisure which a 
private tutorage leaves to the master, and the 
calm tranquillity it affords to the scholar, the 
elements of learning may be instilled with 
ease and accuracy, and a sure foundation be 
laid, on which the superstructure of public 
education may be carried to any height. 

In the instruction of youth, the develope- 
ment of the mind, and the formation of its 
ideas, ought to be carefully attended to, 
their combinations directed, and their associa- 

■6 * ' I • 

tions properly adapted. This, however, can 
be observed only in a course of private 
tuition, or in those seminaries where a small 
number of pupils are admitted at advanced 
prices. Such is, therefore, the plan w hich 
persons of affluence ought to adopt, at least, 
during some time, until their children have 



/ 


115 

attained to a certain age, and their mind* 
begin to be formed. It cannot be expected, 
that in a numerous school, any attention can 
be paid to the important task of teaching 
“ the young idea how to shoot,” at least, 
unless the number of teachers be multiplied 
in proportion to that of the scholars; for 
although this is of indispensable necessity in 
the proper cultivation of the juvenile mind, 
it is absolutely impracticable in a seminary 
consisting of more than five or six pupils. 

To teach children merely to read, is not 
all that is necessary towards illuminating 
their understanding. They ought to be in¬ 
structed in the signification as well as the 
sound of words, and taught to annex to them 
the ideas w hich they w ere‘designed to impress 
on the mind. The books which are put into 
their hands should be suited to their years 
and their proficiency, and every sentence 
ought to be fully explained to them, until 
its meaning be perfectly understood. By 
this procedure, diligently and perseveringly 
continued, they would acquire a knowledge 
of things as w ell as of w ords, and store their 
minds with ideas at the same time that they 
are learning to read their vernacular language. 
A youth, thus initiated, will enter on a 
course of public education with incalculable 

i 2 


116 


advantages, and make an extraordinary pro¬ 
ficiency, through the facility which he will 
find in his studies, and the pleasure that will 
accompany his future pursuits. 

One of the greatest advantages accruing 
from private tuition, is the habit of early 
attention. This is a qualification of the most 
beneficial tendency, and of which the utility 
can scarcely be estimated in its full extent; 
but it will hardly ever be acquired in a 
crowded academy. Nature may, indeed, be¬ 
stow it in any situation, but in a large school 
it must be entirely her gift; for its acquisition 
cannot be facilitated to a child scarcely past 
the age of infancy, by placing him in a 
numerous assemblage of boys or girls, whose 
inattention and noisy petulance are far from 
having any tendency to stimulate him to 
application. 

Those parents who cannot afford the ex¬ 
pence of private tutorage might, in a great 
measure, obviate that inconvenience by taking 
upon themselves the early part of their 
children’s education. This might generally 
be done, as the greatest part of parents, even 
of the poorer sort, can read, and many of 
them can write, and some know the first 
principles of arithmetic. It would exceed¬ 
ingly facilitate and advance the important 
business of education if they would take the 


117 


pains to communicate what they know to 
their children. Very few, however, will give 
themselves this trouble, and the general ex¬ 
cuse, for such neglect, is want of leisure ; 
but there are few families where either the 
father or the mother might not find ten 
minutes every day to employ in so laudable 
an undertaking, and this would be more 
than can sometimes be devoted to that pur¬ 
pose by the master to whose school they are 
sent. The poorer sort, in particular, would 
find their account in adopting this method 
in the education of their offspring. They 
might, many of them, teach their children 
to read the new testament, and some of them 
might carry them on to a higher pitch of 
improvement. If they can afford to put them 
to school, a lesson or two in the evening, 
while the father and mother sit by the fire 
side, would exceedingly facilitate their pro¬ 
gress in learning; and certainly a parent 
could not have a more agreeable employment 
than to contribute, as much as possible, to 
the improvement of his children, nor a more 
pleasing amusement than to contemplate the 
gradual developement of their minds. 

I3y pursuing such a plan, many excellent 
purposes would be answered. It would save 
the money of the poor, and procure to their 

i 3 




118 

children, at least, with the addition of a little 
school education, such a stock of learning as 
might be suitable to their situation in life; 
and the general result would be, that the 
children of the lower class being thus in¬ 
structed, would be enabled to confer on their 
offspring the same benefit which, by suc¬ 
cessive communication, from one generation 
to another, might, in an increased degree, 
be transmitted to the latest posterity. 

Another common excuse alledged by those 
parents who, although npt destitute of educa r 
tion themselves, will not give themselves the 
trouble of communicating any instructions 
to their children, is, that “ they break their 
patience, and that they cannot make them 
learn . >} The reason of this is, because they 
will not persevere in such a manner as to sec 
their labours crowned with success. For¬ 
getting the thoughtless years of childhood, 
they have not the perseverance to overcome 
those defects to which they themselves were, 
once liable, and which then exercised the 
patience of their instructors. They send 
their children, however, to school, and then, 
if they do not learn, they never fail to blame 
the master for the slowness of their advance¬ 
ment, without considering that he has not, 
perhaps, half so much tjme to bestow in 
teaching them as they might employ for that 


119 


purpose at home. It is surely unreasonable 
to think that others should perform, with so 
much ease, things that we ourselves find so 
difficult. 

It may, indeed, be alledged that the master 
of a school, being experienced in his pro¬ 
fession, understands the method of instructing 
youth much better than those who have not 
been accustomed to that employment. In 
regard to such pupils as are tolerably ad¬ 
vanced, this observation is certainly just ; 
but it is equally certain, that parents who 
can read and write may, nearly as well as 
the most skilful master, instruct their children 
as far as they themselves have been instructed; 
for patience and perseverance in this case are 
more requisite than any systematic methods. 
Children, until they have attained to a certain 
age, are to be taught by practice, by re¬ 
peated lessons, rather than by rqles and 
theories which they can neither understand 
nor remember. 

Parents who pretend that they have not 
the leisure, but who in fact will not take the 
pains to instruct their children, naturally 
expect that the schoolmaster being paid for 
his work, ought to apply to it with diligence. 
This, indeed, he must do, or feel the reproach 
of his conscience for neglecting so important 

i 4 


120 


a charge. The instruction of the rising 
generation is, indeed, a business of the most 
momentous concern, and on the manner in 
which it is performed, a great part of the 
happiness or misery of posterity depends ; 
but this ought to be considered by parents 
as well as teachers. As the difficulties which 
it presents are so numerous and so great, the 
emoluments it produces so small, and con¬ 
sequently the schools so much crowded, the 
time of teachers so much divided, and their 
attention so much distracted, every hand 
ought to help in an affair of such incalculable 
importance. Too much, indeed, cannot be 
done to facilitate the success of those who 
take upon themselves an employment so 
difficult, so laborious, and so conducive to 
the benefit of the community. It is a duty 
which the dictates of conscience, the law of 
natural justice, and the welfare of society, 
impose on public teachers to use their best 
endeavours for the advancement of the pupils 
committed to their charge, and for whose 
instruction they are paid; but let it not be 
forgotten that it is also a duty imposed by 
nature on parents, to labour by all possible 
means for the good of their offspring. 


121 


ESSAY IX. 

9 

ON THE SAME. 

I f seems somewhat surprising that in no 
country of Europe any national system of 
education has been established.* Such an 
institution, by instructing the great mass of 
the people, at a season of life when the mind, 
unoccupied and equally free from passion 
and prejudice, is susceptible of any im¬ 
pressions, and unacquainted with the troubles 
and cares incident to a more advanced period, 
is at full leisure to attend to instruction, 
would, perhaps, be of not much less utility 
than a national church. The former would, 
at least by seconding the efforts of the latter, 
facilitate to the multitude the knowledge of 
its doctrines, and by illuminating their mind 
render them more observant of its precepts. 
If we reflect on the incalculable benefits 


* Scotland is, perhaps, the best provided with schools of any 
country in Europe. But these cannot be said to form a national 
system. Most of the parish schools also have such poor endowments 
as not to be worth the attention of masters of real merit, 




122 


♦ which might result from a national institu¬ 
tion of this kind, adapted to instruct the 
great mass of the people at an early period of 
life in their duty to God, to their Prince, to 
their country, and to society in general, and 
in such useful learning as might suit their 
situation, and thus make them good Chris¬ 
tians, good subjects, and useful members of 
the state, it must appear somewhat extraor¬ 
dinary that nothing of the kind has been 
established in any country of the European 
world. The institution of a system of na¬ 
tional educat ion was much talked of in France 
a little after the commencement of the revo¬ 
lution, but it does not appear to have been 
carried into effect. Indeed, the plan formed 
by Condorcet and his colleagues was not 
calculated to answer any beneficial purpose; 
on the contrary, its avowed object was to 
obliterate every idea of religion, and to eradi¬ 
cate from the minds of the rising generation 
every notion of Christian morality. A plan 
thus modelled, on the avowed principles of 
infidelity, was ill calculated to render a 
nation either wise or good, and consequently 
its failure is not to be regretted. 

While universities have been established 
for the higher classes, for those who are de¬ 
signed for the learned professions ; and while 


123 


the beneficial effects of those public institu¬ 
tions have been so conspicuous, while the 
eye is delighted with viewing, and the mind 
with contemplating the improvements of the 
civilized world, and while the incalculable 
importance of enlightening the human in¬ 
tellect in the commencement of its operations, 
and of rectifying the ideas in early youth is 
universally acknowleged, the philosophical 
observer of the state of society sees, with 
wonder and regret, that no uniform method 
has ever been taken for the instruction of the 
great mass of the people, although it is evident 
that the tranquillity and happiness of the 
community depend, in a very considerable 
degree, on the state of popular information 
and popular manners. This view, of so im¬ 
portant a subject, naturally leads to an in¬ 
quiry into the causes of such a defect in the 
moral and social system of civilized Europe. 

During'the long period of time commonly 
denominated the gothic ages, and particularly 
distinguished by the universal prevalence of 
the feudal system, learning was little esteemed 
by the great, and of little use to the people, 
who being attached to the soil, and solely 
employed in its cultivation, or in following 
the Lord to the wars, were strangers to every 
kind of commerce. Being almost totally 


124 


destitute of money, and possessing little pro¬ 
perty of any kind, the peasant had no need 
of understanding arithmetical calculations, 
and as little of knowing how to write; nor 
was reading much more necessary in his 
situation. In his temporal affairs he was 
almost absolutely at the disposal of the 
feudal chief, and in regard to his spiritual 
concerns he was under the guidance and con¬ 
trol of an ecclesiastical director. In such a 
state of things, it is no w onder that the in¬ 
struction of the people was considered as an 
object of little importance. 

Princely temporalities were conferred on 
the church : ecclesiastics w ere raised to the 
summit of power and opulence : vast estates 
were annexed to monasteries, and bodies of 
men w ho had made vows of poverty, were, by 
the piety or the superstition of the times, 
enriched beyond the limits of discretion, 
w hile the education of the people was almost 
wholly neglected. All this, however, ori¬ 
ginated not only in the spirit, but the circum¬ 
stances of the times. Superficial observation 
and reasoning may, indeed, attribute the 
neglect of popular education, solely to the 
indifference of those who bore rule over the 
people; but a little reflection w ill convince 
an impartial inquirer, that an insurmount- 



125 


able obstacle opposed the dissemination of 
literary knowledge. 

Before the abolition of the feudal system, 
the extension of commerce, and the influx of 
wealth, if learning, as already observed, was 
of little use to the common people, its ac¬ 
quisition was also impossible ; and if any 
plan of national education had, in those un- 
propitious times, been formed, existing cir- 
cumstancs would have rendered it abortive. 
The exorbitant price of books must have been 
an insuperable obstacle to its execution. In 
the ages alluded to, the whole circulating 
cash of Great Britain would not have been 
sufficient to purchase all the books at this 
day used in her various seminaries ; and the 
same remark is applicable to all the other 
countries of Europe. The invention of the 
art of printing was that alone which, by 
diminishing their value in a proportion 
difficult to calculate, and almost incredible, 
could place the acquisition of literary know¬ 
ledge within the reach of the people. Before 
that important discovery, which constitutes 
so distinguished an epoch in the history of 
the human mind, it is scarcely probable that 
the greatest exertions of Princes, philoso¬ 
phers, legislators, and churchmen, could have 
been able to render effective any plan for the 




126 


education of the lower orders of the conv 

t 

munity, and tlie diffusion of learning among 
the great mass of mankind. 

If this insuperable obstacle had not existed, 
if books had been as cheap as they are at this 
day, it would not have been difficult to estab¬ 
lish a system of national education, at tlie 
same time with a national church, and to 
have provided in the same manner for its 
support. The former would have been an 
excellent appendage to the latter: it w ould 
have seconded its efforts, facilitated the under¬ 
standing of its doctrines, and strengthened 
its influence. The most beneficial effects 
must have resulted from their concomitancy. 

If the minds of the people were more en¬ 
lightened by an appropriate education, the 
labours of the clergy would be rendered more 
easy, more agreeable, and far more successful. 
How good soever may be the seed that is 
sown, an indifferent crop must be expected, 
if the ground has not been previously put 
into a condition proper for its reception. 
None but those w ho have attentively observed 
the state of the human mind among the 
lower classes, can be fully acquainted with 
the grossness of their conceptions, their absurd 
associations of ideas, the dulness of their 
comprehension, and the general obscurity 









127 


which clouds their understandings. When 
the mind is left destitute of early instruction, 
when the ideas, like plants without culture, 
are suffered to rise up at random, to be 
smothered in a mass of sensual impressions, 
or implicated in a labyrinth of gross and 
absurd associations, it is not to be expected 
that such a field of intellectual sterility can 
be fertilized by the efforts of the clergy. It 
is, indeed, impossible, that the understand¬ 
ing of persons destitute of education should 
be much enlightened, and their ideas rectified 
and expanded, by listening once a week to a 
sermon, of which, through their defective 
knowledge of the words and phrases of their 
native language, they can only comprehend 
a very small part. A clergyman makes a 
good, and according to his own opinion, a 
very intelligible sermon, level, as he supposes 
to the meanest capacity. The auditors stare, 
with an air of attention, and the preacher 
imagines that they are returned home strongly 
impressed with a conviction of the great truths 
that he has delivered, and the vast importance 
of the moral precepts which he has proposed 
for the regulation of their practice. But the 
reality of the case is, that they never under¬ 
stood a third part of his discourse. Their in¬ 
capacity of understanding the whole rendered 




128 


them inattentive to the rest; and their mis¬ 
apprehension of some parts having inter¬ 
rupted the concatenation, and destroyed the 
connexion, they soon forget those particulars 
which they did hear and understand. 

A respectable, pious, and learned minister 
of a country parish, said to me, lately, in a 
familiar conversation,, “ I constantly endea¬ 
vour to compose my sermons in as plain a 
stile as possible, and yet, I have every reason 
to believe, that more than half of my con¬ 
gregation do not understand them, and return 
from the church no better informed than they 
came I answered him briefly thus, “ Is 
this, Sir, a new discovery that you have 
made ? It is nothing more than what I could 
have told you a lomg time ago.” It is, in¬ 
deed, scarcely possible to explain the sublime 
doctrines of religion, in language suitable to 
the untutored capacities of those who are 
destitute of education, and unaccustomed to 
think. 

Every one who has the curiosity to enter 
into conversation on these subjects, with 
people of this description, will be readily 
convinced of the justness of this observation ; 
and whoever has well considered the recipro¬ 
cal influence of language and ideas, will easily 
perceive that this must ever be the case with 













129 


Untutored minds* When the Spaniards, after 
the conquest of America, began to attempt 
the conversion of the natives, they soon per¬ 
ceived their incapability of comprehending 
the mysteries of Christianity * The powers of 
their uncultivated minds were so limited, 
their observations and reflections reached so 
little beyond the objects of sense, that they 
seemed not to have the capacity of forming 
abstract ideas, and had no terms of language 
to express them. To such men the sublime 
doctrines of religion w ere absolutely incom¬ 
prehensible* The Spanish ecclesiastics, or at 
least a great many of them, attributed to a 
physical, what was the effect of a moral 
cause, and a synod held at Lima, declared 
the Americans, through a defect of under¬ 
standing, incapable of receiving the ucharist* 
This decree, how ever, w as rescinded by Pope 
Paul 3d, who, possessing a more accurate 
knowledge of the nature and operations of 
1 lie human mind, issued his celebrated Bull 
of A. D. 1537, in which he declared the 
natives of America capable of being admitted 
to the sacraments, and of enjoying all the 
privileges of Christians, The case of the un¬ 
tutored Americans is applicable to the in¬ 
habitants of all uncivilized countries, and 


£ 


130 


with some modifications, to the lower classes 
of people in those that are civilized. The 
knowledge of language, the formation of 
ideas, and the habit of thinking, always run 
parallel; their operations are concomitant, and 
their effects reciprocal. Those who know no 
more of language, than what serves to express 
their thoughts or feelings on the most familiar 
subjects, which is almost the full extent of 
vulgar phraseology, are, in a great measrtre, 
incapable of forming abstract ideas, and of 
carrying their reflections beyond the objects 
of sense, so as to understand a discourse which 
turns on the sublime mysteries of Christianity. 
The Americans, in general, did not refuse 
their assent to the Christian religion, when it 
was preached to them by the Spanish eccle¬ 
siastics ; but it was plainly perceived that 
their faith was only a torpid acquiescence, 
and that no arguments produced any rational 
conviction on their minds. And it is an ob¬ 
servation that might be made in every 
country of civilized and Christian Europe, 
that a very considerable part of the common 
people, although they may, perhaps, regularly 
attend the public worship of their respective 
establishments, understand very little more 
of the doctrines of their own churches, than 
of the tenets of Mahometanism. 


131 


In considering the advantages of early in¬ 
struction, it must be acknowledged that youth 
set right at first, sometimes go Wrong after¬ 
wards ; but such instances must be reckoned 
among those irregularities, which ought not 
to be regarded in forming general views, and 
adopting general measures. The conduct of 
the great majority of mankind is always re¬ 
gulated by the general principles and motives 
of human action. That right principles have 
an uniform tendency to produce propriety 
of conduct, is a reasonable inference, and its 
truth is confirmed by experience* Partial 
deviations may be ranked among those 
eccentricities of human nature from which 
we cannot draw any general conclusion. 

Reasoning from the analogies of experience, 
and from all the observations that can be 
made on the influence of early impressions 
on the human mind, we are naturally led to 
conclude that a system of national education, 
well planned, and well conducted on the 
liberal principles of general Christianity, such 
as would inspire sentiments of religion, mo¬ 
rality, loyalty, and patriotism, and setting 
aside all bigotted attachments to opinions, 
give admission to all sects and denominations, 
could not fail of being productive of all the 
benefits that the most sanguine speculator 

k 2 


132 


could expect.* It is not impossible that 
such a plan may yet be formed and carried 
into execution at some future period, in all 
or most of the European countries. It must 
be confessed, that it would yet be attended 
with great difficulties, although the inven¬ 
tion of printing has removed the grand and 
indeed insuperable obstacle, which, during 
so many ages, rendered it impracticable. By 
general principles of calculation, which the 
most authenticated statements of European 
population afford, the expence, which is the 
most formidable obstacle to the execution of 
so beneficial a project, might be estimated, 
although not correctly, yet with a tolerable 
approximation to truth. The population of 
the united kingdom of Great Britain and 
Ireland, cannot be estimated at more than 
about fourteen or fifteen millions, of which, 
supposing the period of public education to 
extend from the age of eight to that of four¬ 
teen, not more than one fifth-part, or about 
three millions at the most, could at one time 
be under tuition. This number of pupils, 
allotting twenty to each master, and none 


* The; Lancastrian plan seems not unlikely to be conducive to the 
introduction of such a system, to which it appears to be the best 
substitute hitherto discovered. 




133 


ought to have more, would require one 
hundred and fifty thousand instructors, who, 
at a salary of sixty pounds per annum each, 
would require nine millions of pounds per 
annum for their support. But this statement 
which, in its general principles, is applicable 
to all the other European countries, exhibits 
an expenditure too great for any of them to 
support; for although it might be nominally 
less in most of the continental states than in 
Great Britain, it would not be less in reality 
when their relative wealth is taken into the 
account. 

The foregoing calculation, however, is made 
on an extensive and liberal plan, which might 
be considerably reduced. If the period of 
education were limited to the three years, 
from nine to twelve, instead of the six from 
eight to fourteen, only half of the before 
supposed number would be under tuition at 
once, and only seventy-five thousand precep¬ 
tors required, and if the number of pupils 
allotted to each were extended to thirty, no 
more than fifty thousand masters would be 
necessary. If to each of these, a salary of 
fifty, instead of sixty pounds per annum were 
allowed, the whole expence of the institution 
would amount to only two millions and an 
half per annum. On this contracted plan, 

k 3 


134 


the great business of national education would 
be carried on in a manner beyond all com¬ 
parison, better than that in which it is now 
managed. If we consider also, the many 
schools already endowed, and the consequent 
deductions on that account, together with 
the number of the more opulent members of 
the community, w ho would prefer academies 
of their ow n choosing to those of the national 
establishment, the public expence of that 
institution might undoubtedly be reduced 
below the sum of two millions per annum. 

This rough estimate of the expences, at¬ 
tending a plan of national instruction, which 
a probable calculation exhibits, may furnish 
us with a tolerably just notion of the enor¬ 
mous amount of those which a similar in¬ 
stitution would have required, previous to 
the invention of printing, and shew T the in¬ 
surmountable obstacle, which till then had 
rendered a system of popular education im¬ 
practicable in every nation of the ancient 
and modern world, and w hich would even 
at present be sufficiently difficult to sur¬ 
mount. The world, however, is not yet 
arrived at the utmost limits of improvement; 
and it is impossible to foresee what events 
are concealed in the w omb of futurity. Every 
age and almost every year, produces some- 


135 


thing’ new. Schemes of public and private 
utility are daily formed, and new expedients 
discovered for the amelioration of human 
circumstances. The age of ambition and 
conquest may pass away, and the halcyon 
days of Europe arrive, when the instruction 
of the people, and the general improvement 
of the human mind, will be esteemed a more 
glorious project than the usurpation of thrones, 
and the spoliation of kingdoms. If the ex¬ 
pectation of the miilenium should ever be 
realised, this will undoubtedly be one of the 
distinguishing characteristics of that happy 
period, of which imagination delineates so 
grand and so fascinating a picture. 


130 


OBSERVATIONS ON THE FOUR FOLLOWING 

ESS A VS. 


Some critics, imagining the reign of superstition to be at 
an end, have considered the four following Essays as almost 
useless. But experience, sometimes ot a disagreeable nature, 
proves this supposition to be an egregious mistake. Without 
going to the Highlands of Scotland for stories of second sight, 
or to Wales or Ireland in search of fairies, we need only 
advert to scenes that have not long ago taken place much 
nearer the Metropolis, and even in its vicinity. The un¬ 
fortunate circumstance of the Hammersmith Ghost cannot 
yet be forgotton; and the barbarous outrage committed on 
a poor woman suspected of witchcraft at Paxton, within sixty 
miles of London; and the trial of the delinquents at Hunting¬ 
don, are transactions of a still later date, which shew that 
however we may consider ourselves as an enlightened people, 
it is, as in other European countries, only a part of the nation 
that can boast of this advantage. 

A century has not elapsed since our courts of judicature 
sentenced to death the poor wretches who were considered as 
convicted of witchcraft, as in the case of Jane Wenham, con- 
demned at Hertford assizes the 4 th of March, 1712, contrary 
to the opinion of Judge Powel, who, greatly to his honour, 
procured her pardon from the Queen; and in that of Mary 
Hicks and her daughter Elizabeth, who were executed at 
Huntingdon. At that time grave Theologians declared their 
belief of the reality of witchcraft, as may be seen in two 
treatises written by the Rev. T. Bragge, vicar of Hitchin—the 
first entitled “ A full and impartial account of the discovery 
of Sorcery and Witchcraft, practised by Jane Wenham”—the 


137 


•ther 4i Witchcraft further displayed, &c.” as also in “ A De¬ 
fence of the proceedings against Jane Wenham,” by F. B. 
A. B. and in “ The Belief of Witchcraft vindicated,” by G. R. 
A. M. Yet this was not in the ages of Gothic ignorance. 
England was at that period a highly enlightened country: 
she could then boast of a Cowley, a Milton, an Otway, a 
Waller, and a Prior among her Poets; and of a Tillotson* a 
Burnet, a Boyle, a Clarke, a Ilarvey, a Cudworth, a Shafts- 
bury, a Locke, and above all of a Newton, with many other 
illustrious names in the lo»g list of her Divines and Philoso¬ 
phers. Does not this shew that superstition is more slowly 
eradicated than some are willing to admit? Indeed I do not 
know whether the annual sermon preached at Huntingdon, 
against “ The Sin of Witchcraft,” be yet laid aside. For the 
honour of the town and the credit of the clergy, I should be 
happy to learn that either the sermon is discontinued, or the 
subject changed for one more instructive and edifying. 

The Annual Review for 1S05 has this paragraph, “ It 
may perhaps be doubted whether a person can now be found 
of education sufficient to feel any inducement to the perusal of 
these pages, who will need to be fortified by their arguments 
against the influence of the superstitions which they con¬ 
demn.” But those who have a complete knowledge of the 
world will readily agree that these superstitions are not con¬ 
fined to so low and uneducated a class as the Reviewers imagine. 
Dr. Johnson himself did not disbelieve in apparitions; and 
numbers of persons, who are far from being destitute of 
education, are subject to the same weakness. 

A literary gentleman, who is equally acquainted with men 
and books, once remarked in a late conversation on the 
subject, that “ the Reviewers move in a particular circle 
which precludes them from the observation and investigation 
of the current ideas of the great mass of the people.” Mr. 
Aikin, however, allows that as some of our recent popular 


138 


writers have not presumed to treat with absolute unbelief, the 
doctrine of apparitions, it may not be useless to combat 
their arguments, however contemptible in the eye of reason/'’ 
Annual Review, 1805. 

The monthly Reviewers say, “ It surely could not b* 
necessary, in discussing the subject of popular superstitions, 
seriously to argue against judicial astrology. We have now 
no old foresights.” What! is not Moore's Almanack to this 
day the oracle of the vulgar, to which numbers of people 
have recourse, in order to gain a foreknowledge not only of the 
weather and the seasons, but also of the events of peace and 
war, of national posterity or of national calamity ? Or is there 
any where a tract of country, of twenty miles square, in 
which there is not some pretender to astrology, whose skill is 
held in esteem, by a considerable number of people ? The 
Author can assert, not from conjecture or hearsay, but from 
actual observation, that many persons who are not so destitute 
of education as to be incapable of reading and understanding 
these Essays, have a high opinion of that fallacious science. 
The Reviewers, from their situation, may not be acquainted 
with these circumstances ; but there are others of a similaf 
nature, of which they cannot be ignorant. Culpepper’s 
Herbal, arranged on the supposition of planetary influence, is 
a popular book, and has been often reprinted. Other works 
relating to astrology issue not unfrequently from the press; 
among these is one entitled the Celestial Intelligencer, em¬ 
bellished with several plates, representing demons, he. and 
published a few years ago at the price of a guinea. 

In the Monthly Magazine for April 1807, there ap¬ 
peared an advertisement announcing the publication of 
u Sibley’s new and complete illustration of the occult sciences, 
comprehending, 1st, the doctrine and influence of the stars, 
and the astrological prescience of futurity; and 2nd, the 
calculation of nativities, and the art of foretelling the princi- 


130 


pal events of human life, with a general display of the arts of 
magic, divination, exorcism, and familiarity with spirits, &c.” 
price two guineas; and the author of that work congratulates 
himself on “ the triumph he has had over obstinate and un¬ 
believing men, though of the first classical education in the 
world”!!! Although this can only be considered as a vain 
boast, it is evident that the publication of books of such a price 
would scarcely be hazarded, did not the publishers suppose, 
and the supposition is far from being ill-grounded, that there 
is yet left in the country, even among persons not of the 
very lowest order, a portion of superstition sufficient to 
ensure their sale. These considerations point out the utility 
of the following essays ; and, indeed, several persons of dis¬ 
tinguished abilities regard them as the most useful and im¬ 
portant part of this volume. Perhaps there is no class of 
readers to whom they can be more interesting than to those 
who are not deeply tinctured with those superstitions, but 
yet are unprovided with arguments to combat stories, ac¬ 
companied with bold pretensions to authenticity, and rendered 
more plausible by misinterpretations of scripture. 


140 


ESSAY X. 

*• • . 

OS POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 

In the history of every nation, ancient and 
modern, a number of pages might be filled 
with the display of its superstitions. The 
annals of the world do not furnish a single 
exception to the propriety of a general ap¬ 
plication of this reproach ; and it is an ob¬ 
servation more true than pleasing, that the 
people of this island, who think themselves 
enlightened in a greater degree than most 
other nations, and so frequently ridicule, and 
with all the pride of self-sufficiency, condemn 
the superstitions of other countries, are not 
less superstitious than those who are, in this 
respect, the objects of their censure. In every 
part of Europe there are, in vogue, notions 
as grossly absurd as any that exist in the 
Mahometan, or we might even say in the 
Pagan countries of Asia or Africa; and in 
England the current superstitions of the 
lower and middle classes, are not less absurd 
than those of the common people in Spain 
and Portugal. In this enlightened age, it 


141 


might appear superfluous, and even absurd, 
to enter on a philosophical discussion of 
judicial astrology, of the various modes of 
fortune-telling, of faith in omens, and various 
kinds of prognostics, or of the almost general 
belief in the reality of apparitions, with a 
train of other superstitious notions too numer¬ 
ous to particularize, and too insignificant to 
be noticed, was it not well known how 
generally they bewilder the minds of the 
vulgar, although it might seem incredible 
that such gross absurdities should exist in the 
minds of rational beings. Those who are 
enlightened by philosophy, or by pure and 
rational religion, are free from the influence 
of those gloomy presages, and mental horrors; 
but the number of persons of this description, 
constitute only a small part of the mass of 
mankind ; and the ignorant vulgar are a prey 
to those superstitions, which, originating 
from different causes and circumstances, de - 1 
rive all their force from the terrors naturally 
incident to weak and uninformed minds, in 
conjunction with that restless curiosity in¬ 
herent in man, ever desirous of unsealing the 
book of fate, and of reading his future 
destiny. 

Of all the modes of divination which have 
exercised the invention, and bewildered the 


142 


imagination of mankind, judicial astrology 
has been tlie most extensive and prevalent* 
its duration lias been from time immemorial, 
and its extension equal to that of the rudi¬ 
ments of science and civilization. The 
existence of this fallacious science is first dis¬ 
covered at Babylon, where it is generally 
supposed to have originated; and its pre¬ 
valence in that idolatrous and superstitious 
city is frequently mentioned and condemned 
by the prophets of Judah. Isaiah, in par¬ 
ticular, addressing himself to Babylon, clial- 
lengeth her astrologers in these remarkable- 
words ; “ Thou art wearied in the multitude 
of thy counsels ; let now the astrologers, the 
stargazers, the monthly prognosticators, stand 
up, and save thee from these things that shall 
come upon thee.” The time when this pre¬ 
tended science originated is not known ; but 
it seems that its prevalence and credit had 
attained to the highest pitch in Babylon at 
the period in which Isaiah prophesied, and 
its influence continued undiminished until 
the capture of the city, and the subversion 
of the monarchy, by the Persians under 
Cyrus. 

The origin of judicial astrology was an 
effect of Zabaism, the ancient religion of the 
Chaldeans, which, at that time, had degene- 


143 


rated into image worship, the grossest species 
of idolatry. Those pure ideas of the essence 
and attributes of the Supreme Being, which 
mankind originally possessed, being obscured 
by the ignorance of the human understand- 

4 

ing, and the vagaries of imagination, the 
most extravagant chimeras had been sub¬ 
stituted in their place, and admitted into the 
theological systems of all nations, except the 
Jews, a circumstance which shows, into what 
absurdities reason may fall, when left without 
the guidance of revelation. 

One of the first, and indeed the most ex¬ 
cusable errors into which the bewildered 
imagination of man began, by its want of 
revelation to deviate, was Zabaism, or the 
worship of the heavenly bodies. Men were 
ignorant of their nature, and could not but 
look upon them with amazement. They 
supposed that these glorious orbs, whose 
splendour they admired, and whose regular 
motions they observed, were ordained for 
some great purpose ; and while the philoso¬ 
phical part of mankind considered them as 
rulers of the world, in subordination to the 
author of nature, the ignorant having lost the 
primitive idea of an universal and sovereign 
intelligence, might readily conceive them to 
be the only gods that governed the universe. 


144 


The Babylonians and the Egyptians form¬ 
ed the two first political communities men¬ 
tioned in history. Fortunate in the choice 
of a situation, blessed with a luxuriant soil, 
and a climate favourable to vegetation, they 
first, among the nations, rose to opulence, 
and first began to investigate the paths of 
science, and explore the recesses of philo¬ 
sophy. Their advances were as great as 
could be supposed in the infancy of the 
world, when the rudiments of knowledge 
were to be established without any previous 
lights for their direction. If their philosophy 
was imperfect, and in many respects erro¬ 
neous, as it was not founded on experiment, 
but was almost wholly conjectural, we ought 
not to be astonished ; and we have still less 
reason to wonder at the extravagances of their 
theology. When man, unassisted by super¬ 
natural light, attempts, by his own feeble 
powers, to explore that abyss which is totally 
concealed from his view, and infinitely be¬ 
yond the reach of his comprehension, it is no 
wonder that reason, lost in conjecture, should 
yield to the power of imagination, suffer its 
predominancy, and adopt its extravagancies.* 


* The reader will here excuse a repetition of the substance of about 
tw o pages of the “ Letters on Ancient and Modern History,” w ith* 
out which this essay could not be made complete. 




145 


Mankind, conscious of their own unworthi- 
ness, appear to have always considered some 
mediatorial agency as necessary between them 
and the Sovereign of the Universe, whose 
throne they did not think themselves worthy 

w 

to approach, and whose cares they could not 
suppose to be extended to them. The Baby¬ 
lonians imagined that, in the celestial orbs, 
they saw those mediatorial and subaltern 
divinities, which, as they supposed, governed 
the world in subordination to the Supreme 
and Universal Being. Their creative imagi¬ 
nation predominating over reason, and run¬ 
ning without restraint into wild exuberance, 
first induced them to fancy that every orb 
was the habitation of an intelligent being, 
who had his particular department in the 
government of the world, and the disposal of 
human affairs, and afterwards to suppose, or 
at least to pretend, that by observing their 
motions and positions, they might discover 
the effects which they were about to produce. 
This was the hypothesis of the Babylonian 
priests ; but whether it originated in their 
superstition, or their policy, is a problem of 
which we shall never have the means of ob¬ 
taining a solution. When once established, 
however, it was an inexhaustible source of 
emolument, and an engine of power to which 





L 


146 


the ignorance, the superstition, and inquisitive 
curiosity of their Princes and people gave a 
peculiar efficacy. 

A science calculated to give its professors 
so much credit, could not fail of being adopted 
by the artful and designing in other countries. 
It had raised the priests of Babylon to the 
highest pitch of authority, and those of 
Egypt, whose theological system, like that 
of the Babylonians, was a mysterious juggle, 
calculated for the monopolization of power 
and profit, were too sagacious not to perceive 
its utility. The Egyptian priests had made 
it a fundamental principle of their theology, 
to acquire an unlimited influence over man¬ 
kind, and could not be so inattentive to their 
own interests, as to neglect an engine of 
power, which had rendered those of Babylon 
absolute masters of the wealth, the bodies, 
and mines of the people, and given them an 
ascendency in public affairs, which enabled 
them to control the counsels of their Princes, 
and direct the operations of their armies. 

Astrology having thus originated from the 
perversion of astronomy, to the purposes of 
priestcraft, soon diffused itself over all those 
nations of the Pagan world, among whom the 
faint light of science had begun to dawn. 
1 o this end, the study of astronomy appears 


147 


to have at first been almost every where 
directed, and astrological prediction seems 
to have been the first grand object of its 
cultivation. This, like all the other modes 
of divination, was prohibited by the Mosaical 
law, and, consequently, w r as never studied or 
practised by the Jews, except in the times of 
their deviations to idolatry ; but it was uni¬ 
versally adopted by the Pagans, with whose 
philosophical and theological ideas it was 
perfectly consistent. It was indeed so useful 
an engine in the hands of the priests, and 
so perfectly in unison with the inquisitive 
curiosity of the people, in regard to futurity, 
so w ell adapted to the designs of the crafty, 
and so agreeable to the inclinations and 
views of the ignorant, that no wonder can 
be made of its easy adoption, and extensive 
diffusion* 

The credit of lljis fallacious science, of 
which the existence is compatible with only 
a very small tincture of astronomy, always 
diminishes in proportion as the latter is im¬ 
proved ; and it does not appear to have ever 
been held in so high estimation among the 
Greeks and Homans, at least the philosophical 
part of them, as among the nations of more 
remote antiquity, especially the Babylonians. 
The superstition of succeeding times took a 

h 2 


148 


somewhat different turn, and although ju¬ 
dicial astrology was cultivated by the Greeks, 
they do not seem to have considered that 
science compatible with sound philosophy; 
and their priests endeavoured to maintain, 
by the means of their oracles, that influence 
over the minds of men, which those of Babylon 
had acquired by consulting the stars. 

Judicial astrology, however, although pro¬ 
hibited and condemned by the Christian as 
well as the Jewish revelation, and expsoded 
by sound philosophy, gained, during the times 
of ignorance, almost the same degree of credit 
among the professors of Christianity, which 
it had formerly acquired in the Pagan world; 
and a modern reader is astonished to find 
that this pretended science was in the six¬ 
teenth century, during the reigns of Charles 
9th, Henry 3d, &c. as much in vogue, and 
its predictions as seriously believed in the 
highest circles of Paris, and at the court of 
France, as it had been at Babylon in .the time 
of Nebuchadnezzar and Belshazzar. Its in¬ 
fluence was littie less at that time in Eng¬ 
land, and other countries in Europe, not 
among the vulgar alone, but among persons 
of the highest rank, and of no contemptible 
abilities; and even so late as the middle of 
the seventeenth century, it was not wholly 


149 


extinguished among the higher classes in this 
and other European countries. In this en¬ 
lightened age, those ancient superstitions are 
entirely exploded among persons of rank and 
education. The light of philosophy, and 
the improvement of astronomical knowledge, 
have illuminated the minds of the higher 
classes; but a very great majority of the in¬ 
ferior orders of the people, and even no small 
number of those who consider themselves 
somewhat above the vulgar, attach as great a 
degree of credit to the science of judicial 
astrology, as to the authenticity of the scrip¬ 
ture, and the doctrines of Christianity. Thou¬ 
sands in every part of this kingdom will 
have as decided an opinion of the ignorance 
of a person, who denies the influence of the 
planets on human affairs, as of the impiety 
of one w ho disbelieves the popular tales of 
ghosts and apparitions. These, indeed, are 
the two kinds of superstition, which of all 
those displayed in the history of the human 
mind, have had the most extensive influence, 
and the longest duration; one of which, 
originating in the curiosity, and the other 
in the fears of mankind, have, in all ages, be¬ 
wildered the imagination, and domineered 
over reason. 

Arguments, level to every capacity, and of 

l 3 


150 


which the human understanding in every 
state, from the highest pitch of philosophical 
cultivation, to the lowest degree of untutored 
common sense, may perceive the appropria¬ 
tion and force rush in from every quarter to 
overturn judicial astrology, to demonstrate 
its uncertainty, and expose its fallacy. At¬ 
tempts, however, have been made by its 
votaries, to reconcile it with religion, and 
even to give it a scriptural foundation; and 
“ The stars, in their courses, fought against 
Sisera,” has been triumphantly quoted, in 
order to support this fallacious science, by 
the authority of the sacred oracles, and give 
to imposture the sanction of divine revela¬ 
tion. Perhaps we are not able to discover 
the precise meaning of this highly figurative 
expression of Hebrew poetry ; but it appears, 
in poetical language, to signify no more than 
that while the stars were advancing in their 
regular diurnal course, the defeat and des¬ 
truction of Sisera were, with equal rapidity 
and certainty, approaching. But it is con¬ 
trary to all the established rules of interpre¬ 
tation, to infer from this metaphorical allusion 
of oriental poetry, that the configurations 
and influence of the celestial bodies con¬ 
tributed to that event; or to draw from an 
insulated and obscure expression, any con- 


151 


elusion in favour of astrology, which, to¬ 
gether with every other system of divination 
is, by the whole tenor of scriptural authority, 
expressly condemned as sinful, and exploded 
as fallacious. 

The same artifices and industry have, not- 
w ithstanding the general illumination of the 
presentage, been employed to reconcile ju¬ 
dicial astrology with philosophy, to establish 
the planetary influx in the system of nature, 
and to rank its operation in the class of 
physical causes. A very small share, how¬ 
ever, of philosophical and astronomical know¬ 
ledge, is sufficient to invalidate its pre¬ 
tensions.; and a few plain and unanswerable 
arguments, obvious to every reflecting mind, 
and intelligible to every understanding, will 
exhibit a clear demonstration of its fallacy. 

In the system of nature, causes operate with 
a force, in a great measure proportioned to 
their proximity, and all physical, as well as 
moral power, has a sphere of action, beyond 
which it produces no effect. As, therefore, 
every thing is the most pow erfully influenced 
by proximate causes, and but little by such 
as are exceedingly remote, it is evident that, 
from their immense distance, the planets can 
have very little influence on this terrestrial 
«'lobe. The veering of the w ind from North 

*r> % 

L 4 


152 


to South, or the contrary, produces a greater 
change in our atmosphere than all the con¬ 
junctions, oppositions, trines, quartiles, &c. 
of Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn; and the neigh¬ 
bourhood of noxious morasses, or stagnant 
waters, will contaminate the air more than 
the most malevolent aspects of those planets. 
If, therefore, the stars can have but little 
effect on the physical circumstances of this 
globe, it would be the extreme of absurdity 
to suppose that they should have any in¬ 
fluence on the actions of its inhabitants, and 
the direction of human affairs, which depend 
far less on physical, than on moral causes. 

The hour or moment of nativity is the 
important time of planetary influence, and 
its consequences the grand object of astrolo¬ 
gical calculation; but the heavens revolve w ith 
an inconceivable rapidity, and the planets 
materially change their position during the 
time that the infant is making its entrance 
into the world. Besides, if we consider the 
nat ure of human circumstances, they afford a 
multiplicity of arguments against this imagi¬ 
nary science, sufficient to stagger the most 
pliant credulity. When the destructive pesti¬ 
lence, or other epidemical disease, depopu¬ 
lates an extensive region, indiscriminately 
mowing down all ranks and ages, when 


153 


bloody battles terminate the existence of 
thousands in one day, or tremendous earth¬ 
quakes swallow up whole cities with their in¬ 
habitants, can we suppose that the multitudes 
of persons, of different ages, descriptions, 
and nations, thus involved in one general 
calamity, were born under the same planetary 
influence, and that their fate was determined 
by the same configurations of the celestial 
bodies ? The supposition requires a degree 
of credulity incompatible with reason, and 
to which imagination itself can scarcely give 
admission. 

If the existence of this planetary influence 
were certain, an exact astrological history of 
the world would be necessary to inform us of 
the nature and extent of its operation on 
states and communities, on bodies political 
or religious, on the rise and progress of par¬ 
ticular arts and sciences, and on systems, 
establishments, and associations commercial 
or civil. No such work, however, has, as far 
as we know, been at any time undertaken, at 
least none such has ever been accomplished. 
If the advocates of astrology would exhibit 
proofs of the truth of their science, and of the 
reality of the influence of the positions and 
aspects of the planets on human affairs, let 
them carefully peruse the history of the 


154 


world, measure back the revolutions of the 
celestial orbs, and shew us in what manner 
their configurations have influenced and de¬ 
termined the course of mundane events. Let 
them then inform us how it happened, that 
so many ages elapsed before there was any 
position of the heavenly bodies favourable to 
the invention and improvement of the arts 
and sciences. Let them tell us whether the 
rhetorical eloquence of the Greeks arose from 
some peculiar aspect of the stars, or from 
the nature of their political systems and civil 
institutions. Let them assign a reason why, 
amidst the incessant revolutions of the celes¬ 
tial bodies, their benign influence continually, 
or at least, with very few and transient inter¬ 
missions, beamed on Rome until, by a series 
of successful wars, and almost uninterrupted 
conquests, that city, from a mud-walled 
village, became mistress of the civilized and 
then known world, and accumulated its 
plundered wealth within her walls. Ilad 
they not, in the space of so many centuries, 
one favourable ray to dart on any of the 
surrounding nations, which fell successively 
under the power of her arms, and enriched 
her with their spoils ? Why did they at last 
so totally withdraw from her their benevolent 
influence, and turn towards her the most 


155 


malevolent aspects ? And why, after the 
subversion of the Roman power, did they not, 
until about the middle of the fifteenth cen¬ 
tury, bestow one irradiating* beam, on the arts 
and sciences, on philosophy and literature, 
in those countries which formerly constituted 
the western part of the empire ? But above 
all, let them tell us the reason w hy, since the 
time of the creation, no celestial configura¬ 
tion has ever been favourable to hapless 
Africa, nor ever given birth to learning, and 
the arts, in any part of that extensive con¬ 
tinent, except in that contracted corner which 
is situated on the banks of the Nile, and the 
narrow shred that stretches along the shores 
of the Mediterranean. In taking a distinct 
view of the state of the different nations, com¬ 
munities, and classes of mankind, innumer¬ 
able problems of the same nature would 
present themselves to the mind, and baffle 
the powers of conjecture. 

If it were possible to demonstrate the 
reality, and ascertain the extent of the plane¬ 
tary influence on nations and collective bodies 
of men, it would still be impossible to deter¬ 
mine in what manner individuals might be 
implicated in its effects. The fate of the 
nation or community determines the destiny 
of many, and in some measure affects the 

p * , 


156 


interests of almost all its individual members, 
who are drawn into the public vortex, and 
involved in the effects of national events 
by innumerable modes of implication, of 
which the consequences, even if the reality 
and extent of this influence could be proved 
and ascertained, would baffle ail the calcula¬ 
tions and predictions of astrology. 

This fallacious science, like other super¬ 
stitions, has always had a predominancy 
over the minds of men in those countries 
where philosophy and literature have not 
shed their irradiating influence. A late 
traveller. Dr. Wittman, in exhibiting the de¬ 
grading ignorance and superstition of the 
Turks, relates, “ that the launch of a ship of 
w r ar was delayed till the report of a favour¬ 
able opportunity had been made by the astro¬ 
logers and dealers in magic and very 
judiciously adds, “ can such a people be 
formidable. 5 ’ Mr. W ittman’s remark is here 
exceedingly sagacious ; for nothing is more 
degrading to the mind than superstitions of 
these kinds; nothing more effectually weakens 
its energy, and disqualifies it for arduous 
enterprises and vigorous exertions. Lord 
Nelson did not stay to consult the stars before 
he attacked the French fleet at the mouth of 
the Nile, or forced the passage of the Sound; 


157 


neither did General Bonaparte examine their 
configurations before the battles of Mantua 
and Marengo; nor did any one of that brilliant 
constellation of great naval and military 
commanders, British, French, and Austrian, 
whose names are too many, even to enumerate, 
and who distinguished themselves by such 
splendid achievements in the late memorable 
contest, ever suspend their operations, in 
order to calculate the tendency of the plane¬ 
tary influence, or wait for a favourable con¬ 
junction. It is somewhat extraordinary that 
the artifices of fortune-tellers and arrogant 
pretenders, operating on the superstitions 
and fears of the ignorant , should induce them 
to attach credit to these vain prognostics, 
when they see them totally disregarded by 
all the enlightened part of mankind, by those 
who are engaged in the most important 
affairs, who direct the operations of armies 
and the government of empires. 


158 




ESSAY XI. 

ON OMENS, 


FHE attention paid to omens or prognostics* 
appears still more absurd than the belief of 
judicial astrology, which, however erroneous 
in its principles, and illusory in its con¬ 
clusions, has been supported by some argu¬ 
ments that might appear plausible to igno¬ 
rance, overpowered by superficial reasoning. 
It is, indeed, astonishing, and was it not an 
indisputable fact, would seem incredible, that 
the human mind could ever degrade itself by 
such absurdities, or, with fatal ingenuity, 
find such expedients in order to torture itself 
with delusive hopes and groundless fears. A 
raven hovering near a house, alarms a whole 
family with his croaking, and chills it with 
the apprehension of some approaching mor¬ 
tality. If any qne in the house happens, at 
the same time, to be sick, it is deemed an in¬ 
fallible token of his dissolution; but what 
connexion can sound reason and common 
sense discover between the croaking of a 


159 


raven, or the gnawing of a worm, in the 
language of superstition, the death watch, 
and the termination of human life. Does the 
raven hovering in search of prey, or the worm 
that gnaws the wood of an old picture frame, 
know what is to be the termination of a dis- 

any effort 

of the human understanding, cultivated and 
improved by the first medical instructions, 
founded on a rational theory, verified and 
confirmed by observation and experience. 
Has the all-wise Creator given to these crea¬ 
tures the knowledge which he has denied to 
man ? For what purpose could it be given 
them, or how can we know that they possess 
it ? The same may be said concerning a 
thousand other prognostics equally super¬ 
stitious and absurd. A hare, one of the most 
inoffensive of all animals, crossing the travel¬ 
ler’s road, forebodes ill success to his affairs, 
or some unfortunate accident in his journey; 
and if any such should happen, that innocent 
quadruped is blamed, when all the reason¬ 
ings of philosophy on the effects of physical 
causes cannot discover the least connexion 
between the omen aud the event, nor enable 
us to conceive how so insignificant an oc¬ 
currence can have any tendency, either to 
prognosticate or occasion the disappointment, 


ease, when it cannot be forseen by 


160 

or the accident supposed to have happened 
in consequence.* 

Omens originate in ignorance, superstition, 
human fears, or anxious expectation. A girl, 
in hopes of her approaching marriage, or a 
person flushed with expectation of success in 
some favourite undertaking, may construe 
the most trifling occurrence into a favourable 
omen, as one who is influenced by melan¬ 
choly, or apprehensive of disappointment, 
will consider it as a portent of disaster. If 
success answer the eagerness of desire, crown 
the enterprise, and realize hope, the reputa¬ 
tion of the omen is established. A person 
hears in the night a strange noise, for which 
he cannot well account: some one in the 
house perhaps is sick, or falls ill soon after. 
If the sick person recovers, the matter is no 
more thought of; but if he happens to die, 
the person who heard the noise, which was 


* Professor Raff, of Gottingen, gives the following instance of the 
superstitious notions of the people of Germany:—“The stupid 
peasant,” says he, “and the superstitious citizen, regard owls with 
horror and dread ; they consider these poor birds as the harbingers of 
death, and wherever their doleful cry Is heard, they assure themselves 
that some person is shortly to die in the neighbourhood, especially 
in the house on which one of them has happened to perch for a 
moment. For the time the thing is considered as infallible. As 
soon as the fatal cry is heard, the people begin to tremble and grow 
pale, and if the ominous bird should unfortunately happen to ap¬ 
proach their habitation, or light on their roof, then, for certain, all 
is over.” Thus we see how' striking a resemblance there is between 
the superstition of Germany and that of England. This noxious 
weed is, indeed, the produce of every soil. 






161 


probably no more than the creaking of a 
door hanging too loose on its hinges, the 
cracking of a table, or some other piece of 
wooden furniture, alternately contracted and 
distended by the changes in the atmosphere, 
begins to reflect on the circumstance, and 
tells it to some other; it grows up into an 
omen, is introduced into the gossipping circle, 
and chronicled among the tales of wonder in 
the neighbourhood. 

When the mind resigns itself to the domi¬ 
nation of superstition, reason is silenced, and 
the understanding obscured. Thought is no 
longer free, but is dragged along by the 
force of prejudice. Nothing is more dreadful 
than this tyrannic sway. Imagination domi¬ 
neers over reason. The mind is a prey some¬ 
times to romantic hopes, but more frequently 
to groundless fears, and is crowded with a 
chaotic assemblage of absurd and extravagant 
images. 

The power of superstition over some minds 
is, indeed, almost incredible; and those who 
have never had the opportunity of observing 
its operation, could scarcely be able to form 
any conception of its influence. I have 
known a person who possessed a naturally 
good understanding, thrown into no small 
perturbation of mind, by a servant having 

JVI 


162 


spilt a little salt, or carried something out of 
the house on a particular morning before any 
thing was brought in, an oversight, which 
was supposed to prognosticate a disadvan¬ 
tageous run of business, and a diminution of 
property, in the course of the ensuing year. 
There is, indeed, scarcely any occurrence so 
trivial that superstition may not convert into 
either a good or an evil omen ; but the fears 
of mankind multiply the prognostics of evil 
in far greater proportion than those of good. 
This, indeed, is not surprising ; for super¬ 
stition is at once the parent and offspring of 
fear. It originates in that gloomy appre¬ 
hensiveness of futurity, which is natural to 
weak and uncultivated minds, and it nourishes 
and keeps alive those fears from which it 
derives its existence. Their influences are 
reciprocal, and by their mutual operation 
they acquire an ascendency over the mind, 
which it is almost impossible to eradicate. 
When superstition has established its tyranny 
over the understanding, every mode of reason¬ 
ing is ineffectual when employed to rectify 
its errors, and every argument insufficient to 
produce conviction. 


1 63 


ESSAY Xll. 


ON GHOSTS AND APPARITIONS. 


“ Mean while the village rouses up the fire \ 

“ While well attested, and as well believed, 

“ Heard solemn, goes the goblin story round $ 

“ Till superstitious horror creeps o’er all.” 

THOMSON, 


UF all the various ramifications of popular 

superstition, the most remarkable and the 

most general is the belief of the reality of 

* 

apparitions. This is almost universal, and 
it is not a little surprising that a notion so 
absurd should have prevailed in all ages, and 
in all countries, and that neither the dictates 
of reason, the light of philosophy, nor the 
power of religion, has yet been able to destroy 
its influence. The most ridiculous and in¬ 
credible tales, relative to this subject, have 
been told and believed ; and it is only the 
enlightened few, in every country, who have 
the good sense to laugh at those absurdities 
which disgrace the human understanding. 
Among the numerous catalogues of those 
stories, there are some few so plausibly re- 

M 2 


104 


% 

.A 

lated, and apparently .so well attested, that 
their claims to authenticity seem indisputable 
to those who relate, and those who hear 
them ; and such persons as are not endowed 
with this easy credulity, are stigmatized by 
the narrators and their credulous hearers, 
with the imputation of obstinacy and almost 
of infidelity, as if the vagaries of superstition 
were necessary appendages to religion. This 
assertion is grounded on experience ; for I 
myself have, oftener than once, had the op¬ 
portunity of observing what sort of opinion 
some persons formed of my religious prin¬ 
ciples, when I could not refrain from laughing 
at stories of which the credibility was not 
less incompatible with religion, than with 
philosophy and sound reason, but which they 
thought it criminal to disbelieve. 

The doctrine of ghosts and apparitions, 
like all other popular superstitions, when 
contemplated with the eye of reason, merit 
only to be treated with ridicule, contempt, 
and disregard ; but when we consider its 
astonishing influence over the minds of the 
vul gar, and even ot some who would scarcely 
be willing to be included in that description, 
it becomes a subject of serious consideration, 
and claims an inquiry into its origin and its 
grounds, as well as into the consequences of 


165 


suffering those reveries of the imagination, to 
tyrannize over reason, and bewilder the 
understanding.* If apparitions be real, they 
must proceed either from a natural or super¬ 
natural cause, and consequently must be con¬ 
sidered in both a philosophical and a religious 
point of view. 

In a philosophical examination, no argu¬ 
ment can be adduced that tends, in the least, 
to establish their probability. To investigate 
the matter, we must first endeavour to form 
a just conception of the nature of the human 
soul, and consider whether, after death and 
interment, any thing remain of man that can 
be visible to mortal eyes, or, in other words, 
whether the soul be material or immaterial. 
We know that the body is deposited in the 
grave, and can no more be seen ; the possi¬ 
bility, therefore, of the apparition of deceased 
persons depends solely on the nature of the 
soul or spirit. If this be material, the sub¬ 
stance, of which it is composed, must be ex¬ 
ceedingly fine and subtle, and its visibility 
extremely improbable, although, perhaps, 
not absolutely impossible. Philosophy, how¬ 
ever, in this respect, sanctioned and con- 


* Some instances, unfortunately too public to be unknown, and 
too recent to be forgotten, prove the fatal consequences of these 
superstitions, 

M 3 




166 


firmed by religion, teaches us that the soul is 
altogether immaterial, and it is evident that 
a being purely immaterial and intellectual, 
cannot act upon the optics so as to render 
itself visible to the corporeal eye. 

That great moral philosopher and elegant 
writer, Dr. Johnson, appears to have fallen 
into a sort of inconsistency of reasoning, in 
the speeches which he puts into the mouth of 
Imlac, preceptor and guide to Rasselas ; and 
it must be observed, that the notions and 
sentiments attributed to the Abyssinian sage, 
are those of the Doctor himself. “ That the 
dead are seen no more,” said Imlac, “ I will 
not undertake to maintain against the com 
current testimony of all ages, and of all 
nations. There is no people, rude or learned, 
among whom apparitions of the dead are 
not related and believed. This opinion, 
which, perhaps, prevails as far as human 
nature is diffused, could become universal 
only by its truth: those that never heard of 
one another, would not have agreed in a tale 
which nothing but experience could make 
credible. That it is doubted by single 
cavillers, can very little weaken the general 
evidence ; and some, who deny it with their 
tongues, confess it by their fears.” Imlac, 
however, in his discourse on the nature of 


167 


the soul, labours to establish the opinion of 
its immateriality, and enforces the belief of 
this doctrine by a train of close and logical 
reasoning. 44 Some,” answered Imlac, 44 have 
indeed said, that the soul is material, but I 
can scarcely believe that any man has thought 
it who knew how to think; for all the con¬ 
clusions of reason enforce the immateriality 
of mind, and all the notices of’sense, and in¬ 
vestigations of science, concur to prove the 
unconsciousness of matter.” 

Imlac contends for the reality of appari¬ 
tions, from the concurrent testimony of all 
ages and nations, and the universal belief of 
all mankind. This universality of belief, 
however, does not appear to have existed 
except among the vulgar, and it is evident, 
that the concurrent testimony here mentioned 
is to be drawn only from that class. Neither 
sacred nor profane history informs us that 
the distinguished characters of ancient and 
modern times, even when in the most trying 
and difficult situations, and engaged in the 
most important affairs, had any apparitions 
of departed souls either to terrify, encourage, 
or instruct them. The sovereigns of nations, 
and commanders of armies, on whom the 
destiny of millions depended, were never 
favoured with a visit from their departed 

M 4 


168 


ancestors or counsellors, for the salutary pur¬ 
pose of directing their conduct, or warning 
them of impending dangers. If the appear¬ 
ance of ghosts had been any thing more than 
mere fiction, there is the strongest reason to 
believe, that the histories of both the ancient 
and modern world would have been crowded 
with well authenticated relations of that 
kind. When we consider the incalculable 
number of persons, of all descriptions, sud¬ 
denly cut off by disease or accident, of Princes 
and Generals who have fallen in battle, or 
by assassination, on the eve of carrying into 
execution the greatest and most important 
designs, and left their projects unaccomplish¬ 
ed, and their undertakings unfinished, it is 
reasonable to suppose that apparitions would 
have been extremely frequent, and that so 
many human souls being thus violently, and 
often instantaneously separated from their 
bodies, in the midst of such interesting scenes, 
and in so critical a situation of their affairs, 
a great number of them would have returned 
upon earth, and presented themselves to those 
persons with whom they were, by their public 
or private concerns, intimately connected, 
and united in one common cause. Among; 
so many assassinated Roman Emperors, ayd 
other murdered monarchs, we do not find that 


16 ® 


any of them ever appeared again upon earth, 
either to interest themselves in the affairs of 
the nations they had governed, or to haunt 
their murderers; yet we hear numberless tales 
of old women, &c. overleaping the bounds of 
their eternal mansions, and coming to teaze 
and terrify their neighbours, by exhibiting 
themselves arrayed in white, and sometimes 
without a head, making strange noises in the 
night, gliding over their chamber floors, 
drawing their curtains, pulling away their 
pillows, and a thousand such mischievous 
gambols, and all this in sport, merely to 
amuse themselves with the fears of those whom 
they had left behind. Consider and compare 
those cases, and it will plainly appear that 
although the reality of apparitions may have 
constituted, and undoubtedly still consti¬ 
tutes an article of the creed of the weak and 
ignorant, in every country, it has never been 
believed among the wise and enlightened in 
any part of the world. 

Those, whose minds are illumined by phi¬ 
losophy and literature, and have generally 
associated with persons of the same descrip¬ 
tion, will, perhaps, say, “ what need is there 
now of a dissertation on this subject. These 
tale& it is true, have been related by an¬ 
tiquated nurses; but who, in this age, believes 


170 


them ?” Who believes them ! many thou¬ 
sands in this enlightened age,.and in this en¬ 
lightened country, believe them as firmly as 
the best Christian believes the gospel. And 
a serious consideration of the dreadful con¬ 
sequences of this credulity, exhibited in many 
notorious instances, will authorise us to con¬ 
clude, that whoever could eradicate super¬ 
stition from the minds of men, might be 
deservedly ranked among the benefactors of 
the human species. 

If Dr. Johnson’s Imlac had well considered 
his arguments in favour of the immateriality 
of the soul, he would have seen their evident 
tendency to disprove his hypothesis of the 
reality of apparitions of the dead; for nothing 
can be more incompatible with sound philo¬ 
sophy, than that a being purely immaterial 
can, by any physical causes, become visible 
to the corporeal optics, or act in any manner 
whatever upon the organs of any body, 
except that w hich is, by the laws of nature, 
united to it, and together with it, constitutes 
one identical person. 

As no arguments whatever can be deduced 
from philosophy, in favour, even of the 
probable reality of apparitions, it will be 
requisite to consider them in a religious jjpint 
of view, and to inquire whether an opinion 


171 

so contradictory to reason be authorised by 
revelation. 

Many persons are so far misled by super¬ 
stition, as to imagine that a disbelief of ap¬ 
paritions is a mark of impiety and irreligion. 
Those, when they have heard the subject 
fully examined, and their favorite opinion 
combated by the most convincing arguments, 
that the dictates of reason and the investiga¬ 
tions of philosophy can furnish, close the 
discussion with this expressive and imposing 
conclusion, “ Nothing is impossible to God.” 
This overbearing declaration, which appears 
at the first sight to silence dispute, and to 
preclude all possibility of reply, involves a 
train of reasoning extremely erroneous ; for 
every thing is impossible to the Divine Being 
that is contrary to his nature and his at¬ 
tributes. Let not vain and ignorant man 
arrogantly presume to circumscribe the agency 
of his Creator ; but to assert that he cannot 
act in a manner that is inconsistent with his 
infinite perfections, involves no pretention 
to a limitation of his power. Infinite good¬ 
ness is his attribute, he cannot therefore do 
any thing that is unjust or wicked. He is 
infinitely wise, and consequently it is im¬ 
possible to him to act unwisely, if appari¬ 
tions of the dead do not proceed from causes 


172 


purely natural, they must, whenever they 
happen, be attributed to the particular com¬ 
mand or permission of the Creator of the 
human soul, the Sovereign Ruler of the Uni¬ 
verse, whose power extends equally over the 
intellectual as over the material world. This 
consideration naturally excites us to inquire 
what circumstances can authorise man to 
suppose the particular interposition of the 
divine agency. If we reason according to 
those ideas of infinite wisdom, which sound 
philosophy and true religion teach us to form, 
we shall readily conclude that no apparition, 
nor any other miraculous event produced by 
a supernatural agency can take place, except 
on great and important occasions. This 
ought to be a general rule of reasoning in 
these cases; and indeed its universality and 
invariability appear to be such, that our ideas 
of the divine attributes do not suffer us to 
suppose that it can admit of any exception. 
The learned Pagans were so fully sensible of 
this, that even in their poetical compositions, 
in which the interference of superior beings, 
with human affairs, was frequently intro¬ 
duced, they made it a fixed and invariable 
rule, that the agency of those beings ought 
not to be supposed, except when the magni¬ 
tude of the event, or the importance and 


173 


I 


difficulty of the crisis sanctioned the pro¬ 
bability of such a supposition. This Pagan 
maxim is not unworthy the attention of 
Christians. The system of polytheism, how¬ 
ever the mythologies of different nations 
might vary from one another, uniformly 
taught the doctrine of a number of subor¬ 
dinate deities, governing the world under the 
control of one supreme and universal being; 
and these inferior divinities being ranged in 
a long line of subordination, some more and 
others less exalted above human nature, their 
different departments and offices so varied 
and multiplied, and often so closely con¬ 
nected with human affairs, might induce a 
supposition of their particular interference 
in the concerns of mortals. This phantasma¬ 
goria of an ideal world, furnished a grand 
machinery for the embellishment of poetical 
composition, not intended as a representation 
of truth, but calculated to strike the imagina¬ 
tion, and command attention. To introduce 
a superior agent upon a trifling occasion, 
however, appeared even to their poets such 
an infringement of the laws of reason and 
propriety, as to be inadmissible, even in 
fictitious representation, in which the imagi¬ 
nation was suffered to range as far as the 
utmost limits of probability. We believe in 


i 


174 


one Supreme, eternal, and infinitely perfect 
Being, who created the world, and governs 
it without any delegation of power, pervading 
every part of the immense system, and ruling 
the whole by immutable laws. It is there¬ 
fore the extreme of absurdity to suppose hint 
liable to caprice who has established all 
regular order. It is impossible that infinite 
wisdom should ever act capriciously, nor can 
we suppose that he should ever alter or annul 
the eternal laws, which he has, in his om¬ 
niscience established, unless it be when the 
object in some degree merits his particular 
interposition, and the action appears worthy 
of the agent. In such cases, the divine agency 
being consistent with the divine attributes, 
will always be conspicuous and unequivocal, 
not obscure and indistinguishable, majestically 
great, not absurd and trifling. 


. 








175 


ESSAY XIII. 

• ( 4 

ON THE SAME . 

THE DOCTRINE OF APPARITIONS EXAMINED 
FROM THE AUTHORITY OF THE SCRIPTURES . 


A HE annals of the world do not furnish 
one well authenticated instance of any par¬ 
ticular and preternatural agency of the Su¬ 
preme Being, except on extraordinary oc¬ 
casions, and for extraordinary purposes. The 
sacred scriptures, which are peculiarly the 
history of God’s particular and extraordinary 
dispensations to man, do not furnish one 
instance of divine interposition, or particular 
communication, except when the occasion 
was such as eminently required such an 
agency. We find some distinguished per¬ 
sons, whom the Almighty had selected from 
the mass of mankind, to act some conspicuous 
part in the great plan of his Providence, 
favoured by a particular interposition of his 
power, and a particular communication of 
his will; but whenever this was done, a 
supernatural agency was clearly perceptible, 


170 


and the purpose fully explained, either iin* 
mediately, as in the visions of Abraham, Jacob, 
(VIoses, &c. or shortly after, as in the case 
of the dreams of Pharaoh, Nebuchadnezzar, 
&c. These were very different from our 
popular tales of apparitions, where neither 
plan nor purpose can be discovered, but all 
is trifling, improbable, and absurd. 

The visions of the first patriarchs were 
designed to shew them the future destiny of a 
great nation that was to be formed out of 
their posterity, and distinguished by par¬ 
ticular dispensations of Providence. The 
dreams of Pharaoh were communications, 
made to the sovereign of the most opulent 
and polished nation of that early period, for 
the great purposes of warning him to make 
a timely provision for the support of his own 
numerous subjects, and also of strangers, 
when Egypt and all the neighbouring coun¬ 
tries were about to suffer the calamities of a 
long and grievous famine, as well as of raising 
Joseph from the obscurity of a prison to the 
administration of the kingdom, and of in¬ 
troducing the Israelites into Egypt. The 
object of Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams was not 
only to effect the promotion of Daniel, the 
chosen servant of God, but also to show to 
an ambitious founder of a potent empire the 


177 


short duration of his monarchy, and his own 
insignificancy in respect of the Universal 
Monarch* The remarkable prodigy exhibited 
to Belshazzar, the last of the Babylonian 
Kings, was a denunciation of the divine 
vengeance against an impious and sacrilegious 
Prince, who was, at that very moment, with 
a madness scarcely paralleled in the annals 
x>f human infatuation, indulging in the 
most flagrant acts of impiety, as well as of 
licentiousness ; when an implacable enemy, 
who had annihilated his armies by successive 
defeats, had, notw ithstanding the strength of 
the walls in w hich the improvident monarch 
placed his confidence, already found means 
to enter the city; and when the hand-writing 
appeared on the wall, was hastening to the 
royal palace to exterminate the devoted 
Prince, with his debauched courtiers. In all 
these prodigies we see an evident and un¬ 
equivocal effect of supernatural agency, a 
distinct and connected plan, and a grand and 
luminous display of the Divine Providence. 

All the other instances in the old testament, 
of extraordinary communications, made by 
the Supreme Being to man, during a period 
of about three thousand five hundred years, 
are in all the material points similar to the 
few' here adduced. All were made for some 

N 


178 


great and important purpose, and \Vere con¬ 
ducive td some great and important end. In 
all of them a preternatural agency is con¬ 
spicuous and unequivocal, and the purpose 
expressly declared, or in some manner clearly 
revealed. All these supernatural communi¬ 
cations, if brought forward to distinct in¬ 
spection, will appear essentially connected 
with the universal and Uninterrupted series of 
causes and effects employed by the Almighty 
Ruler, for the completion of his extensive 
and mysterious plan. Nothing of the kind 
can be discovered in the tales of popular 
superstition, in which every thing is without 
connexion or coherence, incapable of any 
rational or appropriate application, being 
equally absurd in their contexture, and in¬ 
significant in their effects. 

It is especially to be observed throughout 
the whole of the scriptures, that supernatural 
communications are never represented as made 
through the medium of apparitions of the 
dead, but sometimes by dreams, strongly and 
unequivocally marked with the characteristics 
of a celestial agency, and sometimes by a 
divine impulse on the mind of a person re¬ 
ceiving a heavenly commission, relative to 
someextraordinary dispensation of Providence, 
or at least to some great and important 


170 


event; and this is commonly expressed in 
scriptural phraseology, by saying, “theword 
of the Lord came unto him.” When these 
communications were made by visions, the 
ministry of angels was employed, and not 
that of departed souls. This involves an 
irrefragable argument against the belief of 
apparitions of the dead. If these could have 
taken place by natural means, if it had been 
a prerogative of departed spirits to revisit 
this transitory scene, it may reasonably be 
presumed that Abraham, or some other of 
the patriarchs, would have paid a visit to 
their disconsolate posterity when groaning 
under Egyptian servitude ; or when, in later 
times, their deviation from the pure worship 
of the God of their fathers was about to bring 
upon them the most dreadful calamities. It 
might, on equal grounds, be supposed that 
Moses would, at some time or other have 
appeared, to direct by his counsels, or check 
by his reproofs, the conduct of the people 
whose leader and legislator he had been, and 
whose welfare had, during his life, been so 
much the object of his efforts and attention. 
On the same principle, it would appear sur¬ 
prising that the ghost of David never appeared 
to his son Solomon, to reprove his licentious¬ 
ness, nor the ghost of the wise Solomon to 

N 2 


180 


his imprudent son and successor, Rehoboam; 
that none of the pious Kings of Judah ap¬ 
peared after death, to expostulate with their 
wicked successors, and especially that none 
of them revisited Jerusalem, in the reign of 
Zedekiah, to warn their descendants and the 
nation of the dreadful misfortune that awaited 
them. Supernatural communications were, 
indeed, made on most of these occasions; but 
they were made through the medium of a 
prophetic mission, and not by any apparitions 
of the deceased patriarchs, kings, or prophets 
of Israel. If the apparition of departed spirits 
can proceed from natural causes, or if the 
Supreme Ruler of the visible and the invisible 
world had, in the extraordinary communi¬ 
cations of his will to mortals, thought lit to 
make use of their ministry, some of the 
deceased princes or prophets would, out of 
compassion, have revisited the sinful and 
suffering nation ; and the scriptures, un¬ 
doubtedly, would not have been silent on 
the subject. If, in circumstances so critical, 
and on occasions so extremely important, the 
spirits of none of these distinguished person¬ 
ages ever made their appearance, the sup¬ 
position of a preternatural agency exercised 
in sending such apparitions to affright boys, 
girls, and old women, or men whose minds 


181 


are as weak as theirs, is a burlesque on 
human reason, an absurdity for which lan¬ 
guage can scarcely furnish an appropriate 
name. 

The only instance, in the old testament, 
that can be adduced in opposition to these 
remarks, is the apparition of the ghost of 
Samuel, raised by the witch of Endor. This 
extraordinary relation is of so mysterious a 
nature, that much doubt and controversy 
lias arisen on the subject. Some have been 
inclined to think that it was not Samuel, but 
an evil spirit in his likeness that made its 
appearance. This opinion, which is founded 
on the supposition, that the spirit of so great 
and so good a man could not be subject to 
the commands of a wicked enchantress, is 
far from being destitute of probability. How¬ 
ever, it is on the other hand to be observed, 
that the sorceress herself, was both surprised 
and affrighted when she perceived the ap¬ 
parition, and plainly testified that she saw 
something that she did not expect ; and 
whatever it was, it assumed the appearance 
and character of Samuel, and spoke to Saul 
in his name. This has induced many to 
believe that it was Samuel himself. With- 
out, however, pretending to unravel the mys¬ 
tery, or to decide the question, it is sufficient 

N 3 


182 


to observe, that the prophet cannot be sup¬ 
posed to have appeared in consequence of the 
incantations of the sorceress, but by a com¬ 
mand from the Most High, in order to an¬ 
nounce to a wicked Prince his approaching 
destruction, and the translation of the king¬ 
dom of Israel to another family. In this 
case, therefore, of supernatural agency, we 
discover an object worthy of the miracle, and 
perceive that the event which the apparition 
predicted, was both of great importance, and 
in close connexion with the other parts of 
the great plan of Divine Providence, respect¬ 
ing the Israelitish nation. It is also to be 
considered, that although the general authen¬ 
ticity of the scriptural history, as wel} as of 
the scriptural doctrines be universally ac¬ 
knowledged, yet it is not impossible that a 
single insulated fact like this, in so tumul¬ 
tuous and critical a situation of affairs, might 
be misrepresented, or perhaps interpolated, 
especially as it relates to one of its darkest 
periods. However this may be, the existence 
of one single solitary instance of this kind, 
in the long period of almost four thousand 
years, must be regarded as a circumstance 
which deviates not less from the ordinary 
course of providence, than from the regular 
laws of nature. 


183 


If the old testament exhibit no more than 
this single and equivocal instance of the ap¬ 
pearance of a departed spirit, the new testa¬ 
ment is not more fertile in relations of this 
nature. The single vision of Moses and 
Elias, talking with Jesus, at the time of his 
transfiguration, upon Mount Tabor, is the 
only circumstance of the kind recorded in the 
history of Christ and his apostles; and it 
must be considered, that he who was the 
creator of Moses and Elias, might, if he 
pleased to associate these, his dignified ser¬ 
vants, in that mysterious manifestation of his 
glory, call their immortal spirits from their 
eternal mansions, and render them visible to 
the eyes of the astonished apostles, by the 
same Almighty fiat which at first spoke them 
into existence. 

The repeated apparitions of Christ to his 
disciples after his resurrection, certainly will 
not be considered as any exception to the 
general theory, nor as any proof of the visible 
appearance of departed spirits. lie had then 
triumphed over the grave, and his soul had 
resumed its corporeal vesture. During the 
space of time that his body and soul were in 
a state of separation, and the former de¬ 
posited in the tomb, the latter never made 
its appearance. Had he, even during that 

x 4 


184 


period, appeared in order to console his de¬ 
jected followers, overwhelmed with grief, 
agitated with fears, and perplexed with 
doubts, their critical and distressing situa¬ 
tion would have evidently shown the purpose 
of such an instance of supernatural power, 
and exhibited an unequivocal proof of its 
propriety and importance; neither could such 
an impression, made on their optics, have 
been an act of any difficulty to him who 
created the eye and the intellect of man, and 
possesses an unlimited control over universal 
nature. 










185 


ESSAY XIV. 

ON THE SAME. 

XN regard to the appearance of goblins, 
spectres, &,c. which, by the vulgar, are sup¬ 
posed to be a species of evil spirits that walk 
in the dark, and terrify poor mortals, the 
very same arguments may be adduced, both 
from reason and scripture, against apparitions 
of this kind, as against those of departed 
souls. The light of philosophy, and the light 
of religion, equally tend to dissipate those 
chimerae of the imagination ; in this respect, 
these two great luminaries of the human 
mind exactly coincide, as, indeed, they always 
do, when rightly understood. Philosophy 
informs us that an immaterial being cannot, 
without a miracle, be visible to mortal eyes; 
and both reason and revelation teach us that 
it is inconsistent with the nature of the 
Supreme Being, and derogatory to his glory, 
to alter the established laws of nature for 
trifling and capricious purposes. 

These superstitious notions appear to be 
relics of Paganism, which their congeniality 


186 


with the excursive vagrancy of the human 
imagination, unrestrained by reason, and 
seconded by the gloomy apprehensions of 
ignorance, unenlightened by philosophy, has, 
through successive generations, transmitted 
to posterity. All these absurdities might 
originate from Pagan ideas : they are in 
perfect unison with that system, and may be 
traced to that source. 

The Pagan mythology, among the crowd of 
its subaltern deities, recognised a number of 
beings of an inferior order, called demons 
or genii. Some of these were of a benevolent, 
others of a malevolent nature, and, conse¬ 
quently, were distinguished by the deno¬ 
minations of good and evil genii. The Pagan 
mythology had never defined the nature and 
essence of its divinities ; all the explanations 
that can be found relative to the subject, are 
the private opinions of their philosophers. 
As they were creatures of the imagination, 
this question was left to its decision ; and 
the philosophers themselves, who held the 
doctrine of polytheism in subordination to 
theism, could not agree in their opinions con¬ 
cerning the substance of which their Gods 
were formed. However, as a being purely 
immaterial appears difficult to human com¬ 
prehension, it seems to have been the general 


187 


opinion, even of the philosophical part of the 
Pagan world, that the substance of those 
subaltern deities was pure setherial matter, 
too rarified and subtle to be visible to mortal 
sight, unless it was their pleasure to exhibit 
themselves in a particular manner by their 
supernatural power. It is reasonable to sup¬ 
pose, that the ideas of the vulgar on these 
subjects were still more gross. The supposed 
existence of demons or genii, inferior in power 
and excellence to the Gods, and also com¬ 
posed of a grosser substance, was a fertile 
source of superstition ; and we find in the 
fabulous histories of antiquity, some rela- 
tionsof the apparitions of those inferior beings. 
These, however, are only few in number, and 
do not appear to have been much credited, 
except among the vulgar, the superstitious, 
and the ignorant. The celebrated vision of 
Brutus, who is said to have seen an appari¬ 
tion, assuming the title of his evil genius, and 
predicting his defeat at Phillippi, was dis¬ 
believed by Cassius, who very rationally at¬ 
tributed the circumstance to the distempered 
imagination of Brutus, and the agitation ol 
a mind exhausted with fatigue, want of sleep, 
and intense application, it it be true that 
Brutus really did imagine that he saw a 
spectre, the agitated and exhausted state of 


188 


his mental faculties, was undoubtedly the 
cause which gave rise to the phantasm that 
was formed in his imagination ; and if his 
subsequent defeat and death had not realized 
his apprehensions, and given weight to the 
story, it would never have been regarded 
either by himself or his historians. 

The cause assigned by Cassius for this 
illusory appearance, shows that he had very 
just notions concerning the formation of such 
phantasms in the mind, and that the philo¬ 
sophical Pagans of antiquity were not igno¬ 
rant that they have no existence, but in the 
disordered imagination of those who fancy 
they see them. It must, however, be granted, 
that those appearances may sometimes and in 
some measure proceed from a cause purely 
natural, that of visual deception. We judge 
of distance only by experience, and our ideas 
of magnitude are regulated by those of dis¬ 
tance. When, therefore, we judge of objects 
solely by the image which they form in the 
eye, without any conception of their distance, 
we must necessarily be deceived in regard to 
their size; and in travelling in the night, we 
are liable to mistake a bush near at hand, for 
a tree at a distance, or the reverse. If, in like 
manner, we cannot distinguish objects by 
their form, we must unavoidably err in 


189 


judging of their distance and magnitude- 
From this circumstance, M. de Button sup¬ 
poses that the tales of spectres and figures of 
a gigantic and hideous form, which some pre¬ 
tend to have seen, originate. That celebrated 
naturalist therefore rejects the opinion that 
they exist solely in the imagination, and 
thinks it probable, that they might, in conse¬ 
quence of a deception of vision, have appeared 
to the eye in every respect as they have been 
described, since every one who has travelled 
much in the night, especially in places where 
he was not perfectly acquainted with the 
objects which constitute the landscape, and 
consequently was unable to judge of their 
distance, must have observed how r much the 
eye is liable to be deceived in respect of size 
and form. When the spectator, equally in¬ 
capable of distinguishing what he sees, and of 
ascertaining the distance at which he sees it. 
can form no judgment of the object, except 
from the angle which it forms with the eye, 
he will find it magnified in proportion to its 
proximity, and in approaching it will often 
find its size stupendously increased. In per¬ 
ceiving this, he will naturally be astonished, 
and probably terrified, until, on a nearer ap¬ 
proach, he is able to distinguish its form; 
and then the uncertainty of the distance 


190 


vanishes, and the magnitude appears such as 
it is in reality. If on the other hand, he be 
afraid to approach it, and fly from the place 
without examining the object of his terror, 
the only idea he will have of that which had 
presented itself to his view, will be that of the 
image it had formed in his eye, the image of 
a figure gigantic in size and horrible in its 
form. On these grounds, M. de BufFon con¬ 
tends “ that the popular prejudice, in regard 
to spectres, &c. originates from the nature of 
vision, and that such appearances do not, as 
other philosophers suppose, exist solely in 
the imagination.” 

Although the whole of this representation 
be perfectly consistent with the experience 
and observations of every one who has been 
accustomed to travel in the night, the con¬ 
clusion drawn from it, by M. de BufFon, does 
not appear perfectly just. In all those cases, 
if imagination did not predominate over 
reason, if superstition did not overcloud the 
mind, those objects, which, in the night, 
appear so distorted, would no more excite 
fear than a multitude of others often seen in 
the day, of which we do not know the nature, 
and by reason of distance, or some other cir¬ 
cumstance, cannot distinguish the form. On 
the contrary, they would, like unknown aijd 


101 


stupendous objects, observed by day-light, 
inspire the mind with curiosity rather than 
terror, and excite us to examine rather than 
to avoid them. At least we should never 
suspect them to be preternatural appearances, 
had not the imagination been, through the 
influence of superstition, accustomed to as¬ 
sociate the idea of a spectre with that of the 
darkness and silence of night, so that how 
much soever visual deception may contribute 
to generate those images in the mind, the 
radical cause exists in the imagination. 

Ignorance, therefore, in conjunction with 
fear or melancholy, is the primary source 
from which spectres and apparitions derive 
their origin. The person whose nerves are 
strong, whose mind is well informed, whose 
imagination is well regulated, and whose 
fears do not predominate over his reason, 
travels in the midnight gloom, as well as in 
the broad sunshine of noonday, without ever 
being troubled with ghosts, spectres, hob¬ 
goblins, or any of the inhabitants of the in¬ 
visible world, whose names are found in the 
vocabulary of ignorance and superstition, and 
whose exploits terrify the imagination, and 
exercise the eloquence ot nurses and gossips. 
The person whose conscience reproaches him 
with atrocious criminality, although there is 


192 


no reason to suppose that he will ever be 
molested with real apparitions, may, indeed, 
form them in his imagination, and fancy that 
he sees a phantom in every bush. Fear is 
the companion of guilt: conscience, although 
it may sleep for a time, at last awakes, often 
when least expected ; and it is frequently 
impossible to extinguish its power. To 
deliver the offender, whom human justice 
cannot discover nor punish, to the remorse of 
conscience, and the terrors of imagination, 
the most dreadful evils that human nature is 
capable of suffering, is a just punishment, 
inflicted by divine vengeance, on enormous 
guilt, a punishment, indeed, more to be 
dreaded than the gibbet, as it is far more 
terrible. 

Those w ho dare not stir in the night, nor 
remain in solitude, through the fear of being 
visited by an apparition, ought to ask them¬ 
selves what they have in them so extraordi¬ 
nary, or so great, as to procure them the 
privilege of having an intercourse with the 
invisible world, of receiving miraculous com¬ 
munications, or experiencing the effects of a 
supernatural agency. If an individual would 
consider what an insignificant atom he is in 
the great mass of rational existence, he w ould 
see little in 1 imself that could entitle him to 
these extraordinary distinctions. 


103 


The consequences of these popular super- 
stitions are, for the most part, exceedingly 
pernicious, and sometimes unfortunately too 
notorious. They overwhelm reason, and 
obscure the understanding. They render 
the mind ridiculously timid, warp it with 
prejudice, inspire it with false and extrava¬ 
gant ideas, extinguish its energy, render it 
unfit for great undertakings, and even, some¬ 
times, disqualify it for the common affairs of 
life. By their baleful influence on the mind, 
they sometimes become pernicious to the 
body, and even hostile to the vital principle. 
In nervous habits particularly, this is very 
often the case; in constitutions inclined to 
melancholy, those dreams of superstition are 
peculiarly and superlatively dangerous. That 
disease has a natural tendency to engender 
those chimera?, and is, at the same time, 
nourished and fed by their operation on the 
mind. In certain circumstances, their effects 
may be fatal. Perhaps no apology will be 
required for the introduction of a narrative 
not feigned for the sake of embellishing the 
subject, or giving a false lustre to reasoning, 
but of which I myself can, not from hearsay 
or second-hand report, but from personal 
knowledge, assert the authenticity. The 
circumstance is indeed so remarkable, so 


o 


104 


/ 


peculiarly striking, and proves, in so demon¬ 
strative a manner, the baleful effects of super¬ 
stition on weak and uncultivated minds, that 
it merits particular attention, and will suf¬ 
ficiently apologize for the prolixity of this 
dissertation. 

The subject of this narrative was a person 
of about thirty-five. He was a married man, 
and his family consisted of himself, his wife, 
and one son about nine years of age. His 
occupation was that of a labourer in hus¬ 
bandry. In regard to his person, he was of an 
athletic form, of great stature and strength ; 
in these respects, indeed, he was superior to 
most men in the neighbourhood. His con¬ 
stitution was apparently robust, and he had 
scarcely ever experienced any bodily indis- 
potition. In his temper and manners he was 
boisterous, overbearing, and quarrelsome. 
Conscious of his superior strength, he was ever 
ready to display that superiority, and few 7 of 
his neighbours w ere desirous of engaging w ith 
him in a serious contest. He w as, indeed, a 
true alehouse hero, or village bully, and was 
perfectly qualified to support that character. 

The clerk of the parish being indisposed, 
sent this man in the night, after it had been 
sometime dark, to fetch from the church some¬ 
thing that he wanted. Having taken the 


195 


key, he accordingly went; but as soon as he 
had entered the church, the solemn gloominess 
of the place excited in his mind terrific ideas, 
which he had not philosophy to resist, and 
which made an impression that could not be 
removed. Ilis uninstructed mind sunk under 
the terrors of his imagination, which had 
formed chimerae, such as he himself could not 
describe, although their operation was visible 

to any person of the least penetration. This 

•» 

mental agitation, produced by imaginary 
fears, sunk into a fixed melancholy, ac¬ 
companied with a firm persuasion that his 
dissolution was fast approaching; and his 
mind giving way to this impression, it became 
every day stronger and more deeply rooted. 
During a considerable time, he grew daily 
more dejected, without any bodily indis¬ 
position; but as the body cannot long retain 
its health and vigour under extreme dejection 
of mind, he began to grow languid, had no 
inclination to activity or amusements, and at 
length the depression of his spirits rendered 
him unable to follow his accustomed em¬ 
ployment. His case then began to be a sub¬ 
ject of general conversation in the neighbour¬ 
hood, and gave rise to a number of super¬ 
stitious remarks and absurd conjectures, 
many of which coming to his ears, con- 

o 2 




I 


190 


tributed to increase his melancholy. 1 had 
not then lived long in the parish, and al¬ 
though I knew the man personally, I had not 
any particular acquaintance with him. The 
singularity of the circumstance, however, in¬ 
duced me to pay him a visit. 1 found him in 
a state of easy calm dejection: he seldom 
stirred out of doors, although he felt no 
bodily indisposition, except a sort of languor 
caused by the dejection of his mind, and 
gradually increased through want of exercise. 
I questioned him, particularly concerning 
every circumstance of his case, and found him 
tolerably communicative and pleased with 
my company. I inquired into the past and 
present state of his mind, the nature of his 
ideas and their associations, his prejudices 
and the extent of his knowledge, and soon 
perceived that he was totally illiterate, and 
had never been accustomed to reflection, that 
the sphere of his observation was very con¬ 
tracted, and his ideas consequently few and 
simple: in a word, I found the state of his 
intellects such as 1 expected, and such as it 
is commonly observed among persons of the 
same class. I questioned him particularly on 
the notions he had formerly entertained re¬ 
lative to ghosts and apparitions. He said 
that he had not been accustomed to be much 


197 


abroad in the night, that he should never have 
liked to keep such late hours as I frequently 
used, and that if he travelled so much in the 
night time lie should often be terrified, and 
asked me if I was not sometimes frightened. 
To this he added, that he had heard so 
many stories of ghosts and spectres related by 
creditable persons, who were older and wiser 
than himself, that he had never seriously 
doubted of their reality; and appeared some¬ 
what surprised when I represented them as 
chimerse, and laboured to show their fallacy. 
He told me that “ every body said there 
certainly were such things to be seen,” and 
that excepting myself, he had scarcely ever 
known any person except the clergyman of 
the parish, and a dissenting minister in the 
place where he was brought up, who dis¬ 
believed the reality of apparitions ; that he 
himself had never conversed with either of 
them on the subject, but that people said they 
did not believe anything of the kind, and that 
all the neighbourhood considered them as 
very obstinate and self-opinionated men* on 
account of their incredulity. 

These declarations unravelled the whole 
mystery, and 1 could see nothing extraor¬ 
dinary in a case, which to many seemed 
almost miraculous. I interrogated him very 

o 3 


198 


closely concerning' what he had seen in the 
church or the church-yard, and the manner 
in which his mind had been affected. Of 
these things lie could give only a very im¬ 
perfect and incoherent account, from which 
no satisfactory information could be col- 
lected. He said that as he was going, a sort 
of horror came over his mind, and that he 
was under some apprehension of seeing 
spectres about the church-yard ; that in open¬ 
ing the church door, he had the misfortune 
to extinguish his light, and the door hanging 
very loose, immediately shut after him ; that 
this circumstance so increased his terror, as 
in a manner to paralize his mental faculties, 
and render him incapable of giving any 
rational or intelligible account of his state. 
However, I readily perceived the whole truth 
of the matter to be, that he was struck with 
a panic terror, which raised phantoms in his 
imagination, such as he could neither at that 
moment repel, nor afterwards describe. 

Having procured from him all the informa¬ 
tion that he was able to give, and made, as I 
thought, a just estimation of his case, I ad¬ 
duced all the arguments 1 possibly could to 
dissipate his melancholy, and dispel his 
apprehensions. He seemed to approve my 
reasonings, and to be pleased with my con- 



199 


versation. Before I left him, his spirits 
seemed much exhilarated, and he appeared 
desirous that I would repeat my visit. About 
a week after I went again to see him, and 
found him pretty much in the same state. 
My second visit had the same enlivening 
effect on his mind as the first; and afterwards 
I went frequently to see him. He always ap¬ 
peared pleased with my company, and re¬ 
animated by my conversation ; and his wife, 
perceiving his spirits so much raised by my 
discourse, requested me to go to pass half an 
hour with him as often as I could make it 
convenient. Every interview seemed to have 
the same effect on his mind, but this effect 
was only transient; and after I left him he 
always sunk into his former state of dejection. 
The terrors of his imagination, and the 
gloomy apprehensions which they had gene¬ 
rated, had made too deep an impression to 
be obliterated by reasoning. The grand 
misfortune was, that he had no support, no 
source of consolation in himself. He had 
never been in the habit of thinking, nor ac¬ 
customed to reflect on causes and effects; and 
when the arguments which seemed to con¬ 
vince his understanding had ceased to sound 
in his ears, they also ceased to operate on his 
mind. Laborious employments having been 

o 4 


200 


his sole occupation, and bodily exercises, 
such as wrestling, and foot-ball playing, or 
else hard drinking, his only amusements; 
their influence, and the whole tenor of his 
life had rendered him a stranger to thought 
and reflection. It was evident that his mind 
had received such a shock as it was unable to 
support, and of which no train of reasoning 
could then obviate the effects. Had he been 
fortunate enough to have met with some 
person of good sense, whose arguments and 
instructions might have enlightened his 
Understanding, before his distempered ima¬ 
gination had preyed on his nervous system^ 
to such a degree, as to render him too weak 
and languid for the exercise of his ordinary 
employments, it is extremely probable that 
those dismal ideas might have been dispelled. 
If the gloom of his mind had been only 
partially dissipated before it reduced his body 
to a state of languor, exercise and amusements 
would, undoubtedly, have perfected the cure 
of this singular malady; but unfortunately, 
no appropriate means had been used to 
illuminate and convince his understanding* 
until the terrors of his imagination had made 
an impression too deep to be erased by argu¬ 
ment, and his nervous system had experienced 
a shock too severe to be repaired by medicine. 


201 


I c N i 

In this state, the settled melancholy that 
preyed upon his mind, rapidly increased the 
languor of his body, and his bodily weakness 
thus continually increasing, confirmed him 
in the opinion that his dissolution was in¬ 
evitable. The combination of these circum¬ 
stances, in fine, realized his apprehensions. 
He continued two or three months gradually 
growing weaker, without any apparent change 
of symptoms, or any bodily pain, until at 
last he sunk into a state of lethargic insensi¬ 
bility and calmly expired, falling in the very 
flower and vigour of his age a victim to imagi¬ 
nary terrors. 

I have been the more particular in relating 
the circumstances of this remarkable, al¬ 
though not singular case, both because it fell 
within the sphere of my own observation, and 
because it exhibits in so striking a manner 
the power of superstitious notions, and ideal 
terrors, over a weak and untutored intellect; 
from whence may be clearly perceived the 
great impropriety and pernicious effects of 
Exciting such images in the minds of children, 
when they are yet of an age too tender to be 
able to discover the fallacy of the tales they 
hear so often repeated. An eminent writer* 


* JMr. Shenstone. 




202 


says, “ It is remarkable how much the belief 
of ghosts and apparitions has lost ground 
within these fifty years.” This is certainly 
true. Stories of this kind are not so com¬ 
monly related, nor so universally believed as 
they were fifty years ago ; but yet the belief 
of the reality of apparitions is almost general 
among the vulgar. The affair I have just re¬ 
lated, happened not quite thirty years since, 
and a number of more recent instances too 
plainly prove that this popular superstition is 
far from being yet eradicated. 

Every parent and every person intrusted 
with the care of children, ought to endeavour 
to fortify their tender minds against those 
absurd and superstitious ideas. The tales of 
nurses and old women ought never to be re¬ 
lated in their hearing; but as it is generally 
impossible to prevent them from coming to 
their ears at one time or other, they ought to 
be exploded by every mode of argument, and 
treated with every mark of contempt. Stories 
of this kind, should, at least, never be men¬ 
tioned in their hearing, but as subjects of 
ridicule; and every care should be taken to 
excite them to laugh at the folly of those who 
relate, and to pity the ignorance of those who 
believe such tales of terror. 

Imagination is in children, and indeed in 
all w eak minds, stronger than reason, and the 


203 


impressions it receives at an early period are 
not easily eradicated. I am, by some circum¬ 
stances of my childhood, qualified to speak 
experimentally on the subject. While 1 was 
yet in the age of infancy, I went with my 
parents on a visit to a friend’s house, situated 
at some distance, and was left there to pass 
a few weeks. During my residence there, 
the family was pestered with the company 
and conversation of a lady who would have 
been dignified with the title of an old maid, 
had not a trifling oversight in her former days 
excluded her from the virtuous sisterhood. 
She was naturally fluent in conversation, her 
memory w as wonderfully retentive, her imagi¬ 
nation fertile in the invention and embellish¬ 
ment of the tales of superstition, and the 
reports of scandal; and as she had been long 
versed in the system of gossiping, she possessed 
an inexhaustible fund of matter for discourse. 
She always procured the earliest intelligence 
of every young girl that “ happened a mis¬ 
fortune,” of every married woman that “chan¬ 
ced to make a slip,” and of every ghost that 
returned to its former dwelling to plague and 
frighten the occupiers ; and although her age 
was not quite fifty, she perfectly knew and 
remembered all the occurrences of those kinds 
that had happened within the last forty years 


204 


of that period. By this good lady, I was, 
during my residence in that place, so com¬ 
pletely instructed in the whole system of the 
invisible world, that although 1 was not above 
nine years of age, there was little information 
to be had on the subject with which 1 was 
not already acquainted. Whether she seri¬ 
ously believed all the stories she related, or 
not, is what 1 cannot pretend to determine, 
but this I can positively say, that I believed 
every one of them, and the effect which 1 
experienced from her eloquent narrations, 
was, that I scarcely durst peep out of doors 
after it began to grow r dark. The length of 
liiy active day was, in consequence of her 
instructions very much abridged ; for as she 
had made the wonderful discovery that ghosts 
and spectres begin to walk in the twilight as 
much as in “ the solemn midnight hour/ 5 1 
used to be extremely terrified if at any time 
I was likely to be out of doors after it began 
to be in the least dusky. It is difficult to 
conceive, and impossible to describe the 
horrors which I sometimes felt on these occa¬ 
sions in that early period of life, when reason 
had not yet assumed the sovereignty over 
imagination, so that speaking not from con¬ 
jecture but from experience, I can bear wit¬ 
ness of the influence of superstition over 



205 




weak and uncultivated minds, and of the 
pernicious consequences of suffering children 
to listen to such absurdities without guarding 
them against those ideal terrors. I believe 
it was not until 1 had attained my fifteenth 
year, that 1 ever heard the doctrine of spectres 
and apparitions seriously called in question, 
or ever doubted of its credibility ; but I w as 
nearly eighteen before my mind was com¬ 
pletely divested of the superstitious notions 
imbibed in my infantile years. And 1 cannot 
here omit making this important remark, 
that had I not possessed the advantage of a 
a more philosophical turn of mind, and better 
means of enlightening my understanding 
than many others have had, those horrors of 
imagination would, in all probability, have 
accompanied me through life. 


I 


f 


20 6 

ESSAY XV. 


ON THE ARTS OF SORCERY , §C. 


The imaginary arts of witchcraft, necro¬ 
mancy, &c. with which the crafty have long 
amused fools, and by their pretensions to 
occult science imposed on the ignorant and 
superstitious part of mankind, derive their 
origin from the same source as the belief of 
apparitions owe their credit and support to 
the same causes, and are exploded by the 
same arguments. No power in heaven, or 
on earth, can read the volume of futurity, 
except that Being to whom all futurity is 
present, w ho has created the w orld, and who, 
alone, know s what is to happen in it through 
the operation of those laws which he has 
established. The model of creation, both 
material and intellectual, existed from all 
eternity in the divine mind, and in that 
model was necessarily included the whole 
train of mundane events. Created beings, 
of w hatever order, human or angelic, can, by 
their nature, know only the past and the pre¬ 
sent ; this is the full extent of finite penetra- 


207 


lion. Of the future they may, by experience 
and accurate observation of existing circum¬ 
stances, form probable conjectures, but can 
know with certainty only so much as he alone 
who sees through all futurity may think tit 
to reveal; and he can least of all be supposed 
to communicate this knowledge to those who 
endeavour to acquire it by methods which 
he has condemned, and whose arts he has 
forbidden us to consult. 

The fallacious arts of magic and divina¬ 
tion of every kind, as well as the tales of 
ghosts and apparitions, are at this time so 
fully exploded among the enlightened and 
philosophical part of mankind, that the laws 
formerly enacted against them are in most 
countries of Europe repealed, and the pre¬ 
tenders to them liable to be punished only 
as imposters. However, notwithstanding the 
improvement and illumination of the human 
mind, by the revival of learning, and the 
progress of science, the vulgar, in most 
countries, who constitute a vast majority of 
mankind, still believe the reality and truth 
of those various modes of divination; and 
there is scarcely a city, town, or village, in 
this enlightened kingdom, which does not 
exhibit frequent instances of this kind of 
superstitious credulity. 


208 


From the repeated prohibitions of the arts 
of sorcery and divination contained in the 
scriptures, and the severity of the Mosaical 
law ngainst those who excercised them, many 
intelligent persons suppose that the pro¬ 
fessors of those occult sciences had, in reality, 
the power of foretelling future events. This, 
however, appears to be an egregious mistake; 
for in many parts we find that the prophets 
of the Almighty challenge the astrologers, 
the soothsayers, the diviners, &c. to foretel 
the things that are to come, and warn the 
people of the fallacy of their predictions. 
It appears upon the whole, that the diviners 
of ancient days were nothing more than mis¬ 
taken enthusiasts, or designing impostors, 
like the pretenders of the same description in 
modern times. The reason why those arts 
were so strictly forbidden by the Mosaical 
law, and so uniformly condemned in the 
scripture, is sufficiently obvious. They were 
a branch of Paganism, a scene of imposture, 
a burlesque upon reason, and a nursery of 
superstition. By imposing on the minds of 
the ignorant, they were a breach of morality, 
an offence against society, and by encouraging 
a criminal curiosity of investigating futurity, 
and of discovering what could not be dis¬ 
covered, they had an evident tendency not 


200 


only to deceive and obscure the understand¬ 
ing but also to diminish that confidence 
which man ought always to place in the 
Omnipotent and Omniscient Ruler of the 
Universe, who governs all in the best and 
wisest manner, who makes all his creatures 
the subjects of his attention, and from whose 
eternal prescience no future event can be con¬ 
cealed. All those arts of divination were in 
close connexion with the religious ideas and 
worship of the Pagans, and consequently 
had a strong tendency to withdraw the 
Israelites from the observance of their law, 
and lead them to idolatry. This was an 
obvious and weighty reason for the severity 
of the Jewish law against this system of Pagan 
imposture, and the marked disapprobation 
of it so uniformly visible in the scriptures. 

The sacred writings uniformly condemn 
every mode of investigating futurity, except 
by the common rides of human prudence, 
and the rational operation of the understand¬ 
ing, in calculating the future effects of pre¬ 
sent existing causes, and forming probable 
conjectures from visible circumstances ; but 
they are very far from representing the arts 
of divination • as means whereby any future 
events can be known. On the contrary, the 
whole train of those pretended sciences are 

p 


210 


always ridiculed in the scriptures as illusory 
and fallacious, as the vagaries of imagina¬ 
tion, or the schemes of imposture. The 
pretenders to them are frequently challenged 
to give evidence of their skill, and in par¬ 
ticular, those of Babylon, the place where 
these arts were the most studied, and where 
they flourished with the greatest eclat , are, 
as already observed, openly and in direct 
terms called upon to declare whether they 
could, by their science, foresee the calamities 
that were shortly to fall upon their empire, 
their city, and themselves. 

If the magicians of Egypt performed or 
seemed to perform by their enchantments 
some extraordinary things, there is no doubt 
but they produced those effects by their 
knowledge of some secrets of natural philo¬ 
sophy, or probably by cunning deception, 
or the art of legerdemain, like the jugglers 
of the present day, who, by mere slight of 
hand, often do things that astonish the mul¬ 
titude, and which, to an ignorant observer, 
would seem almost impossible to be accom¬ 
plished by mere natural means. These tricks, 
however, appear perfectly simple to those 
who understand the manner of their per- 
fo nuance, and are extremely easy to those 
who make the exercise of them their employ- 


211 


ment. And it appears evident, from both 
sacred and profane history, that the jugglers 
of antiquity, especially those of Egypt and 
Babylon, were equal, or perhaps superior 
in skill and dexterity, to those of the present 
age. 

Y\ lien it is observed how much the opera¬ 
tors of legerdemain, in our days, astonish a 
gaping crowd, and with what facility for¬ 
tune-tellers, &c. impose on the ignorant 
populace, we shall not be much surprised at 
the credulity of ancient times. And when 
the influence of superstition in Great Britain 
is duly considered, we ought not to wonder 
that the magicians and diviners of Egypt 
and Babylon were able to acquire wealth 
and pre-eminence, to command the venera¬ 
tion of the people, and gain an entire ascen¬ 
dency over minds clouded with ignorance, 
and led astray by an active and ardent 
imagination. The situation of Judea between 
these two great sources of Pagan imposture, 
and in the vicinity of other nations not less 
superstitious, with the propensity of the 
Israelites to these practices which so directly 
tended to the introduction of idolatry, are 
circumstances which clearly point out the 
political and moral reason why all the arts 
of divination were so strictly prohibited in 

p 2 


212 


the Jewish law, and so invariably condemned 
and ridiculed in the hagiographical writings, 
although it is sufficiently evident that Moses 
and the prophets of Israel regarded these 
things in the same light with the legislators 
and philosophers of modern Europe. 




213 


ESSAY XVI. 


OS THE ESTIMATION OF CHARACTERS AND 
THEIR MODIFICATION BY CIRCUMSTANCES.* 


AS the public affairs of nations, the rise, 
the prosperity, the decline and downfal of 
empires, and all those distinguished events 
which mark, with discriminating periods, the 
history of mankind, are regulated and deter¬ 
mined by a series of causes and effects, for 
the most part uncontrolable by human pru¬ 
dence, and before they take place often un- 
discoverable by human foresight; so are the 
private concerns of individuals over-ruled, 
their views directed, and their interests formed 
by circumstances of which the arrangement 
has never been in their power. Few persons 
have had the opportunity of choosing their 
own situations in life ; strictly speaking, per¬ 
haps none have enjoyed this privilege. If 
they seem to exercise the prerogative of 


* “ The 16th is a very sensible essay on the estimation of charac¬ 
ters, and their modification by circumstances.”— Aikin’s Annual 
Review for 1805. 




214 


choice, they would, upon a closer inspection, 
appear to act under the influence of present 
or pre-existing circumstances, which they 
could not alter, and by the impulse of 
motives too powerful to be resisted, so that 
what is often called choice is in fact necessity. 
A person chuses one handicraft employment 
preferable to another, or the profession of 
husbandry in preference to any of the me¬ 
chanical arts ; another drudges through the 
intricate mazes of the law; and others in¬ 
volve themselves in the complicated specula¬ 
tions of commerce, pore over the folios of the 
ledger, and make it their employment to 
balance the accounts of profit and loss. It 
may, perhaps, be said that although some of 
those whose lives are employed in agricul¬ 
tural, mechanical, or mercantile occupations, 
have been, by a train of unavoidable circum- 
stances, fixed in their condition without any 
possibility of choice, yet many others have so 
far possessed the opportunity of choosing for 
themselves as to have had the liberty of 
embracing one profession in preference to 
another; but it is evident that they were 
under the necessity of applying themselves 
to some one among the variety that human 
circumstances afford, and that if the direction 
of their conduct had been left wholly to their 


215 


inclinations, they would scarcely have chosen 
any of the employments which they now 
exercise, or the stations which we now see 
them occupy. Few persons would stand be¬ 
hind the compter, puzzle their heads in the 
accompting-house, or drudge at the plough ; 
few w ould handle the tools of the mechanic, 
or confine themselves to the manufacturing 
loom; and as few would expose themselves to 
the dangers of the seas or the horrors of war, 
if a combination of circumstances, of which 
they never had the disposal, did not im¬ 
periously compel them to engage in some of 
those pursuits. S he poor are impelled, by 
necessity, and the rich by motives equally 
irresistible. The conduct of the former is 
determined by the indispensible necessity of 
labouring for daily subsistence; and the latter 
act under the impulse of a sense of duty or 
parental affection, which stimulates them to 
exertion in order to make a respectable figure 
in life, and provide a decent and comfortable 
support and establishment for their families. 
The great are impelled by sentiments of 
honour, or the desire of glory, to occupy 
posts of difficulty or danger, and to burthen 
themselves w ith cares from w hich the affluence 
of their circumstances might well exempt 
them; but which the public welfare of the 

p 4 


210 


community must impose on some of its mem¬ 
bers. The various circumstances of human 
affairs furnish the motives by which the pur¬ 
suits of men are directed, their choice of oc¬ 
cupation determined, their energy excited, 
their conduct actuated, and their characters 
formed. By these impulsive springs, the 
immense and complicated machine of the 
moral world is put in motion, and all its 
wheels continued in their perpetual round. 
In this direction of human conduct the 
economy of Divine Providence is strikingly 
displayed. In making the social circum¬ 
stances of mankind direct their pursuits, and 
in causing partial views ultimately to re¬ 
dound to the general good, society is con¬ 
solidated, and public and private interests 
inseparably united. 

If indigence did not compel some to labour, 
the earth would be a desert, and the human 
species would perish. If the taste for ele¬ 
gance and splendour among the opulent did 
not stimulate industry, the lower classes 
would be in a great measure destitute of em¬ 
ployment, and consequently of support. And 
if the great were not impelled by a sense of 
honour, or incited by the love of glory, to 
take upon them the administration of public 
affairs, it would necessarily fall into the 


217 


hands of those whose education and circum¬ 
stances disqualify them for such a charge, 
whose necessities would tempt them to ve¬ 
nality, and the mediocrity of whose talents, 
and their want of penetration, would render 
them the dupes of imposture. 

It is evident, on the slightest inspection of 
the moral w orld, that the sphere of action of 
every individual* is marked out, and his place 
in the general system assigned him by the 
unerring providence of that Being whose 
omniscience enables him to combine partial 
evil with universal good. Every man is 
placed at the post he is to occupy in the centre 
of an assemblage of circumstances, of which 
the complexity and various combinations 
alternately contract and extend, and ulti¬ 
mately limit his sphere of action as well as 
his circle of observation, and not only de¬ 
termine his conduct, but also model his 
character. 

From this view of human circumstances, it 
is easy to perceive the absurdity of treating 
with contempt, the employments, studies, or 
pursuits of others, although different from 
those in which w e are occupied. If necessity 
has not imposed them upon us, nor our choice 
adopted them, the case may be different with 
another person; and we ought neither to con- 


218 


deinn his motives nor his conduct, unless the 
former be unjust, or the latter immoral. It 
is also to be observed, that his talents, al¬ 
though less splendid, may not be less useful: 
exterior brilliancy does not always imply 
intrinsic value. In society, every vocation has 
its use, and each tends to the harmony and 
conveniency of the whole. A person who 
does not sit in the senate, nor command the 
armies of the state, may perhaps manage well 
a farm, or carry on some useful and beneficial 
manufacture, and so contribute to the wealth 
and happiness of the community ; and one 
who cannot entertain us with instructive or 
amusing conversation, may make a pair of 
good shoes, or weave a piece of good cloth. 

That every one should be wise and learned 

c/ 

• • 

is as impossible as that every one should be 
rich and great; both these suppositions are 
equally absurd, equally inconsistent with the 
plan of Divine Providence, and incompatible 
with the eternal order of things. None ought, 
therefore, to be despised for casual deficiencies. 
The man who cultivates well a farm, or skil¬ 
fully conducts an extensive mercantile con- 

♦ 

cern, might have commanded an army, or 
governed an empire. The greatest characters 
are not always placed in the highest situa¬ 
tions ; and many a poor labourer, or me- 


219 


ehanic, with a proper education, would reflect 
lustre on an university, attract the attention 
of a senate, or command the applause of a 
society of philosophers andliterati. Had not 
a fortunate combination of circumstances 
drawn Newton from his rustic solitude, he 
would, perhaps, never have been any thing 
more than a farmer, in the parish of Colster- 
worth, and never have illuminated the world 
by his learned studies and his sublime dis- 
coveries. \\ ithout a lucky coincidence of 
causes, neither Nicholas IV. or Sixtus V. 
would ever have ascended the papal throne, 
nor Justinian or Basil, that of Constanti¬ 
nople; and how many Newtons, Nicholas’, 
Sixtus’, Justinians and Basils are there not, 
perhaps, at the present moment, in the lowest 
stations and the most indigent circumstances 
of humanity; how many such, in all ages, 
have lived undistinguished and sunk into the 
grave unnoticed, without having met with any 
of those singular coincidences which drew 
from obscurity those favourites of fortune, 
and rescued their names from oblivion. 

These, however, are only a few of those 

remarkable personages whose fortunes have 

been rendered illustrious, and their names 

immortal by a favourable combination of 
•/ 

circumstances, which seldom occurs, and 


220 


without which they must, how 7 great soever 
might have been their genius or talents, have 
lived and died undistinguished and unknown. 
History, in the long succession of ages which 
it exhibits to our view, affords a great number 
of similar instances of persons w ho have been 
raised from the lowest to the most exalted 
stations, in w hich they have displayed the 
most splendid talents, and acted their parts 
with consummate abilities and distinguished 
reputation; and the number of those who 
having thus been raised from indigence and 
obscurity to wealth and eminence, have sus¬ 
tained with dignity and eclat the character 
suitable to an exalted station, affords us reason 
to conclude, that many others would have 
done the same, had they been fortunate 
enough to meet with the same favourable 
coincidences. 

In estimating the characters and abilities of 
men, we are not only to consider what they 
have actually done, but what they might have 
performed in situations more or less favourable. 
In appreciating the character of a general, w : e 
are not to confine ourselves to the contempla¬ 
tion of his victories, his conquests, and his 
triumphs, but to take into our estimate, the 
number, the courage, the military discipline 
and tactical skill of the forces with w horn he 


221 


had to contend, as well as of those whom he 
commanded. Would we relatively appreciate 
the military achievements of Alexander and 
Caesar, we must first compare the Persians and 
Gauls with each other, and then with the 
Greeks and Romans. And when we attempt 
to make a just estimate of a literary character, 
we ought not only to calculate the extent of 
his learning, but also to consider his oppor¬ 
tunities and means of acquisition, and care¬ 
fully distinguish between the innate qualities 
of the mind, and those which are formed by a 
fortuitous combination of circumstances. 
Both merit regard, but they ought to be dis¬ 
tinguished in order to form a right judgment, 
and fix our opinion. 

It is often extremely difficult to make a just 
estimate of the characters and abilities of men 
by their success in life. While we observe 
one, who beginning business with a small 
capital raises himself by his exertions in trade, 
or agriculture, from poverty to affluence, we 
see another, at the same time, who apparently 
pursuing the same course, has very different 
success, and is, without any striking mis¬ 
conduct, reduced from tolerable circumstances 
to a state of downright beggary. In the 
church and the army, some have risen rapidly 
from obscurity to eminence, while others* 


222 


beginning their career with flattering pros¬ 
pects, have remained stationary without any 
advancement to honour and fame; and many, 
after having been raised to a high pitch ot 
elevation, have experienced a sudden and un¬ 
expected downfall The histories of all ages, 
and of all nations, abound with those instances, 
and it is often extremely difficult, and some¬ 
times impossible, to decide whether misfortune 
or mismanagement be the cause ot this variety 
of issue and disparity of success. 

If the greatness of abilities be measured by 
that of the obstacles, which have opposed 
themselves in the way of their exertion, and 
over which they have triumphed, and the 
characters of men be appreciated by the 
difficulties they have surmounted, the most 
trying scenes of action present themselves in 
the lower walks of life; and their constant 
succession requires and frequently excites the 
greatest exertions of intrepidity, fortitude, 
and patient perseverance, of which human 
nature is capable. If the performances of 
persons in the lower stations and common 
employments of life, to a superficial observer 
appear easy, a more acute penetration will 
perceive that the smallness of the means often 
render them more difficult than the achieve¬ 
ment of conquests and the subversion of 
Empires. 


223 


There appears to be in mankind a strange 
propensity to be dazzled with the glare of 
great characters, and the actions of eminent 
persons, while the performance of more ardu¬ 
ous tasks by those of inferior note is not re¬ 
garded. We admire the courage and con¬ 
duct of celebrated warriors, but forget the 
bravery of those by whose valour their vic¬ 
tories were won, and their conquests achieved. 
When historians call upon us to admire the 
long and rapid marches of a Ceesar, an Aure- 
lian, or a Severus, ought we not also to con¬ 
template the patient and persevering fortitude 
of the legionary soldiers, who accompanied 
them in those military movements, and with¬ 
out whose co-operation the activity and 
expedition of the leaders would have been 
of no utility? The privates of the Roman 
legions performed those rapid and fatiguing 
marches under many circumstances of dis¬ 
advantage, of which their commanders did 
not feel the galling pressure. \\ bile these 
travelled on horseback, the privates marched 
on foot, oppressed with the weight of their 
arms and necessary luggage, and while the 
Emperor retired to a spiendid pavilion fur¬ 
nished with suitable accommodations, they 
were perhaps, after a scanty repast, obliged 
to repose themselves on the ground in tents 



224 


that would scarcely shelter them from the 
inclemency of the weather. W hen we read 
of a Roman Emperor marching on foot, 
twenty miles a day, at the head of his troops, 
and rind the greatness of the effort repre¬ 
sented as a claim to applause and admiration, 
we are not to forget that the heavy armed 
legions marched on foot as well as he, with 
fewer conveniences in their route, and worse 
accommodations at their halting places. Are 
we then to consider a Roman Emperor as a 
being of a superior species, that we should 
admire as an extraordinary exploit what 
every Roman soldier was able to perform, and 
every ordinary man esteems an easy task. It 
is no very difficult performance to a man, who 
is in the vigour of his age, to walk twenty 
miles per day: most of our females can do 
this without any extraordinary effort. 

It seems to be a common opinion, and a. 
common error, that the fortitude and other 
qualifications of a great mind can be dis¬ 
played only in dazzling exploits, and in the 
great transactions of life. An extraordinary 
degree of fortitude and persevering exertion is 
very commonly exhibited among the lower 
orders of men, and the most trying difficulties 
are often experienced in the ordinary affairs of 
domestic life. Many labouring peasants 


225 


undergo fatigues and hardships which few 
commanders of armies and conquerors of 
kingdoms have experienced, and day after 
day, and year after year, from youth to age, 
struggle with difficulties that would have 
shaken the fortitude of many of the celebrated 
heroes of Greece and Rome. 

However, as the eyes of mankind are ever 
fixed on the principal agents in every great 
and important transaction, especially of a 
political or military nature, without be¬ 
stowing any great degree of attention on the 
subordinate actors, the reason of this uni¬ 
versal propensity constitutes an interesting 
subject of inquiry; but the discussion will 
show that it does not involve a problem of 
difficult solution. The habit of directing our 
observations towards those characters, who, 
by their actions, their sufferings, or their 
rank, have already acquired some degree of 
celebrity, or whom the appendages of great¬ 
ness and pow er exhibit in an imposing point 
of view, may contribute to the interest w hich 
we feel in the particular incidents of their 
history. This, however, is no more than a 
secondary cause proceeding from another of 
deeper root, and of a more decided as well as 
a more rational operation. The primary cause 
exists in the universally acknowledged pre- 


226 


eminence of mind over body. The heroism 
of the great, who possess the advantages of a 
liberal education, is considered as founded on 
reason and philosophy, the only basis of real 
magnanimity: the fortitude of the inferior 
classes generally originates in habit or insensi¬ 
bility : at the best, their courage is only 
constitutional, and would be wholly inade¬ 
quate to the production of any great effect, 
were it not under the direction of superior 
genius or more cultivated talents. 

-“ While thus laborious crowds ply the rough 

“ oar, philosophy directs the ruling helm.” 

Thomson. 

In contemplating an ingenious and complex 
piece of machinery, we immediately reflect on 
the ingenuity and skill of the mechanist, and 
are ready to admire that comprehension of 
thought which could embrace the whole plan 
of so complicated a work, and make all its 
movements to correspond in perfect unison; 
but we never think of the inferior workmen 
who formed the wheels, and adjusted the 
various parts under his direction. In like 
manner, when we view a magnificent struc¬ 
ture, our admiration is wholly turned towards 
the architect, whose comprehensive genius 
formed the general plan, adjusted its propor- 




227 


tions, and arranged its beautiful symmetry, 
while we seldom bestow a thought on the 
stone hewers and masons, who prepared the 
materials and raised the walls. In our views 
of political and military affairs, we act in 
a manner perfectly similar: We consider 
sovereigns and commanders as the persons 
whose superior abilities form the great design, 
the people and the soldiery as inferior agents 
employed in carrying it into execution. The 
former display, in the most conspicuous 
manner, the powers of intellect; and mental 
superiority is certainly the greatest pre-emi¬ 
nence. 

From what a man performs in any par¬ 
ticular situation, it is not always easy to 
determine what figure he might make in 
another of a different nature. There are 
circumstances, which, by stimulating the 
operation of particular passions or affections 
of the mind, may wind up courage to enthusi¬ 
asm, depress it to pusillanimity, or sink it 
into despair. That greatness of mind which 
constitutes real courage and rational fortitude, 
cannot be justly appreciated or clearly dis¬ 
criminated in the brilliant career of conquest, 
or amidst the huzzas of an applauding multi¬ 
tude. The pressure of adversity affords the 
only criterion whereby it must be estimated. 

Q 2 


228 


It is not surprising that the mind should be 
elevated by success, and that a man should 
be capable of extraordinary exertions when 
he is actuated by great motives, when he has 
victory and conquest in view, or indulges the 
expectation of honour, promotion, and glory ; 
when the eyes of mankind are tixed on him, 
and applauding millions lavish on his actions 
the most flattering encomiums. Such a situa¬ 
tion might inspire a coward with bravery and 
change indolence into exertion. The mind 
in such circumstances is buoyed up above its 
natural pitch : hardships and dangers appear 
trides, and enthusiasm glows in the breast. 
To judge rightly of magnanimity and forti- 
tude, we must see the man left in comfortless 
solitude and hopeless adversity, disregarded 
and destitute of succour. In such circum¬ 
stances, to display equanimity and fortitude, 
is truly great. 

Nothing can have a stronger tendency to 
depress the mind, wear out perseverance, and 
exhaust courage, than solitude in the per¬ 
formance of difficult and dangerous under¬ 
takings. The solitary travels of Mr. Bruce 
into Abyssinia, of Mr. Park in the interior of 
Africa, and of Mr. Lessop from Kamschatka, 
with many others too numerous to mention, 
seem to have required greater firmness of 


220 


* - « 

mind, a more undaunted resolution, and a 

more steady and determined perseverance 
than the achievements of a Ceesar, or an 
Alexander, at the head of their armies, with 
thousands ready to obey their commands, to 
second their efforts, and to share their fate. 
The consideration that numbers of com¬ 
panions are implicated in the same circum¬ 
stances, exposed to the same dangers, and 
partakers of the same hardships, is an inex¬ 
haustible source of consolation, and the 
greatest support of courage where multitudes 
are joined in any arduous enterprise. To 
undergo a series of hardships w ithout a com¬ 
panion, to surmount the most formidable 
obstacles alone and unnoticed, and to face 
difficulties and dangers in solitude, is the 
severest trial of fortitude that imagination can 
conceive ; and a dauntless resolution and per¬ 
severing courage maintained, during a length 
of time, in circumstances so depressing, is 
perhaps the most convincing proof, of firmness 
of mind, that can be given by man. 

A long continued series of adversity is 
more depressing to the mind than any dangers 
or difficulties that afford a prospect of a 
speedy termination. The annals of human 
distress scarcely fifrnish a more distinguished 
instance of almost unparalleled sufferings 

Q 3 


than the wanderings of Commodore Byron, 
and his three companions, in the extensive 
deserts of South America. Such a situation 
was beyond comparison, more difficult and 
distressful than most of those of which history 
in its records of war and conquest exhibits 
such finished pictures. They had no present 
applause to buoy up their spirits, and little 
prospect of future glory to stimulate their 
exertions. Their circumstances were such as 
might have almost totally excluded hope, 
and could scarcely afford any other expecta¬ 
tion than that of perishing in comfortless 
solitude in the bosom of those immense and 
unknown wildernesses. The possibility of 
preserving life was the only consideration that 
could animate and support them so long 
under the pressure of circumstances, difficult 
and perilous almost beyond example. 

Self-preservation is undoubtedly of all 
human considerations the most powerful 
stimulus to exertion, and that which com¬ 
municates the strongest as well as the sud- 
denest impulse ; but its operation is not of 
such a nature as to annex pleasure to exer¬ 
tion, to inspire exhilarating ideas, to sweeten 
toil, to raise flattering expectations, to present 
agreeable images to the mind, and inspire it 
with that enthusiastic ardour which, exciting 


23 i 


a contempt of danger, renders hardships easy 
to bear, and obstacles easy to surmount. 
The man who makes an extraordinary effort 
through the motive of self-preservation, does 
not act with that enthusiasm and exhilarating 

o 

satisfaction of mind, which is felt by one who 
is impelled by a desire of raising himself to 
eminence, and immortalizing his name. The 
exertions imposed by necessity are less agree¬ 
able, and therefore more difficult than those 
which proceed from choice: the former tend 
to depress, the latter to elevate the mind. 
Here also we may, perhaps, discover another 
reason why the exertions made by great and 
conspicuous characters, and persons in the 
higher ranks of life, attract admiration and 
applause much more than those of the in¬ 
ferior orders; we suppose the former to act 
from nobler motives, and to model their 
conduct upon nobler principles. Imperious 
necessity obliges numbers of the lower classes 
of mankind to undergo hardships, to sur¬ 
mount difficulties, and expose themselves to 
dangers for the sake of procuring subsistence, 
and the idea of necessity generally, although 
not justly, excludes that of merit. 


Q 4 


232 


j0 


ESSAY XVII. 

ON THE SAME . 


IN every estimation of character, the com¬ 
bination of circumstances, which contributed 
to its formation ought to be carefully ob¬ 
served, and accurately investigated, and the 
influence of each particular circumstance duly 
examined and weighed ; and we ought to be 
equally attentive to the considerations that 
might induce cotemporary or succeeding 

writers to exhibit it in a more or less at- 

, / 

tractive and imposing point of view. 

W hen we see a great man extolled to the 
skies by the historians of his own nation, we 
ought also to inquire in what estimation his 
character is held by foreigners, and collect 
the testimony and opinions of friends and 
enemies, before we come to a conclusion. 
W e ought especially to consider the com¬ 
plexion of the times in which he acquired his 
power or his reputation, and of those im¬ 
mediately succeeding, in order to determine 
whether his fame be owing to his success or 
due to his merit. Above all we must at- 


233 


tentivelv observe the circumstances of his 
situation, and endeavour to investigate the 
motives that might actuate his conduct. This 
indeed must be a principal consideration in 
appreciating the characters of men both in 
public and private life, a general rule which 
admits of no exception. It is only by ob¬ 
serving these rules, that our minds can pene¬ 
trate through the clouds of misrepresentation, 
under which character is generally exhibited. 
Ignorance and partiality often form a dis¬ 
torted picture, which bears little resemblance 
to the original ; and general opinion, once 
fixed, is easily perpetuated. It is only by 
divesting ourselves of all prejudice, by casting 
off every bias to praise or censure, by com¬ 
paring means with ends, and actions with 
motives, that truth can be investigated and a 
right judgment formed. 

Of those characters which make the most 
conspicuous figure in the histories of ancient 
or mordern times, some are exhibited to the 
world under the imposing titles of heroes, 
philosophers, or saints, while others are re¬ 
presented as tyrants, impostors, or libertines. 
Sometimes the designation is justly appro¬ 
priated, sometimes erroneously applied, and 
the voice of one age re-echoing that of another, 
affixes to their names marks of esteem, or 


234 


stigmas of infamy, and often transmits to 
the latest posterity unmerited applause or 
censure. 

In reading the Roman history, we are ac¬ 
customed to contemplate with admiration the 
splendid talents and military achievements 
of Julius Caesar; but he is also exhibited to 
our view as the man who overturned the 
constitution, and extinguished the liberty of 
his country. If we take the pains, however, 
to examine the nature of this boasted Roman 
liberty, we shall find that it was little more 
than a mixture of civil anarchy and domestic 
slavery. Under the name of a republic and 
the ostensible forms of a popular government, 
Rome had, almost ever since the expulsion 
of her Kings, been oppressed by the despotism 
of the senate, in whose hands the people were 
no more than passive instruments ; and from 
the time of Sylla, the senate itself was fre¬ 
quently overruled by factious demagogues, 
who rendered both the senatorial authority 
and the popular power subservient to their 
own ambition. The history of the republic 
displays a confused scene of patrician tyranny 
and plebeian licentiousness, which shows 
that the condition of the people could scarcely 
be made worse by any change of government. 
And Caesar stands accused of subverting the 


235 


liberty of Rome, when liberty no longer 
existed, and licentiousness had assumed its 
name ; when corruption pervaded every de¬ 
partment of the state, and the republic was 
alternately oppressed by the tyranny of des¬ 
potism, and convulsed by the explosions of 
anarchy. 

In perusing the history of this celebrated 
man, and the complexion of the times in 
which lie lived, it is easy to perceive that his 
situation was such that he must either rise or 
fall : he could not long have remained 
stationary. In appreciating his character, 
we must not, however, forget that he was the 
idol of the people, as Pompey was of the 
senate ; and under his dictatorship the Ro¬ 
mans were happier than they had been under 
the former system, rent by factions and 
harrassed with intestine commotions. The 
conspirators who assassinated him in the 
senate made the cause of liberty their pretext: 
but their real motive probably arose from 
seeing their own power abridged, and their 
influence diminished by his authority. The 
universal consternation which pervaded Rome 
on the intelligence of his assassination, and 
the execrations which the inhabitants of that 
immense metropolis poured forth against the 
conspirators, who had no other resource than 


a precipitate flight to escape the vindictive 
fury of an incensed people, are circumstances 
which demonstrate that the great majority 
of the Homans did not regard Caesar as a 
tyrant, and that they had found the tranquil¬ 
lity of a monarchical government preferable 
to the turbulence of a repubiic. 

Octavius Caesar, surnamed Augustus,stands 
distinguished in history as one of the greatest 
politicians that ever undertook the task of 
governing mankind ; but he is at the same 
time represented by several writers, and con¬ 
sidered by several readers, as the person w ho 
completed the overthrow of liberty at Rome, 
and rivetted, on the Homans, those fetters 
which his uncle Julius had forged. If, how¬ 
ever, we regard things rather than names, 
and take tacts as a basis of reasoning, we 
shall not hesitate to conclude that his reign 
was the happiest epoch which Home had 
ever seen. Augustus, indeed, must be classed 
among the benefactors of mankind, if we 
contrast the previous circumstances of the 
Romans with their condition under his 
government. 

Mr. Aikin says, that “ a person cannot 
have surveyed mankind with an attentive 
eye, without perceiving, in many cases, such 
an irresistible series of causes, operating in 



237 


the formation of character, as must convince 
him oftlie actual existence of a moral necessity, 
that is of such a preponderance of motives 
tending to one point, that in no one instant 
ot a man’s life could he be supposed capable 
Of a course of action different from that which 
he has already adopted/’ Whether this 
argument be true in its utmost latitude, or 
in what extent and with what limitations it 
may be admitted by different philosophers, 
the advocates or the opponents of the doc¬ 
trine of moral necessity, are points not easy 
to determine. In regard to the affairs of 
nations history would incline us to think it 
admissible in its fullest extent, and individual 
experience would also lead us to adopt the 
affirmative side of the question. Motives of 
action are often but slightly examined, but 
if our own can be perfectly recollected and 
fully investigated, we shall find that they 
have generally originated from combinations 
of circumstances of which the influence was 
uncontrolable. 

If we had an opportunity of examining, 
with accuracy, the characters and conduct 
of those men who have been distinguished hv 
their successes or their misfortunes, their 
virtues, or their crimes, we should perceive 
that they were actuated by motives which, in 



238 


their times and in their situations, might ap¬ 
pear in a light very different from that in 
which they would be contemplated at this 
day. To make a just estimation of human 
actions, we must place ourselves in the situa¬ 
tion of the actors. The conduct of men of 
every rank, and in every station, is deter¬ 
mined by particular interests and views, 
predominant inclinations, or imperious cir¬ 
cumstances. 

The characters and conduct of Henry II. 
and his inflexible opponent, Archbishop 
Becket, so far as relates to their celebrated 
contest, have not, perhaps, been clearly re¬ 
presented by historians, nor justly estimated 
by many of their readers. The conduct of 
the Archbishop is always exhibited as a com¬ 
plete specimen of over-bearing haughtiness 
and unparalleled obstinacy. Of these im¬ 
putations, that celebrated prelate cannot, in¬ 
deed, be exculpated by the voice of impartial 
jud gment. The cause which he undertook, 
however grounded on canonical institutions 
and established customs, was in the eye of 
reason and morality unjust; but considerable 
allowances are to be made for the times in 
which he lived. That was an age in which 
the church was in the zenith of its power, 
and high church notions prevailed in their 


230 


fullest amplification and greatest extent* 
The exaltation of the ecclesiastical above the 
secular authority was the favourite maxim of 
the clergy, and the principal object in the 
view of the dignitaries of the church. Am¬ 
bition was Becket’s ruling passion, superiority 
and fame the objects of his pursuit, lie had 
inlisted under the banners of the church, and 
was determined to support the interests, 
maintain the prerogatives, and increase, or 
at least confirm the authority and influence 
of the party which he had espoused. This 
he did with an inflexible courage and a perse¬ 
vering resolution, which, in such a cause 
were, in that age, calculated to procure him 
distinction and celebrity. The honours with 
which he was received on the continent, are 
demonstrations of the high esteem in which 
his undaunted fortitude was held. His senti¬ 
ments and ideas naturally elevated, seem to 
have been somewhat influenced by the bigotry 
of the times, but his views were grand and 
extensive. He occupied the second station 
in the kingdom, and could not bear the con¬ 
trol even of royalty. His ambition prompted 
him to render the regal power subservient 
to his own authority. Martyrdom was, in 
those ages, thought the highest honour, and 
he was less desirous of avoiding the sufferings 


240 


than of obtaining the glory, lit his whole 
history, setting prejudice aside, we discover 
the great man, although we cannot avoid 
lamenting the perversion of such splendid 
talents to purposes so pernicious. A daunt¬ 
less courage, an inflexible perseverance, ele¬ 
vated ideas, and a determined resolution 
joined to a boundless ambition, constituted 
liis character; and his mind was evidently 
formed by nature for every thing that was 
great. The circumstances of the times un¬ 
fortunately gave to his great abilities a wrong 
direction; and he rushed upon his fate, after 
having employed a turbulent life in disturb¬ 
ing the tranquillity of the kingdom as well 
as of the church. # 

If the obstinacy of Becket lias been 
generally reprobated, the conduct of Henry, 
in doing penance in so humiliating a manner 
at the tomb of his enemy, and the disturber 
of his reign, has not escaped the censure 
of posterity. But it must be acknowledged, 
that this act of Henry, how great or how 


* Mr. Aikin, in reviewing this essay, makes the following re¬ 
mark:—“It is no unpleasant or uninstructive employment, after 
having studied the history of such a man as Becket in a protestant 
author, to turn to a Catholic martyrology, and observe the difl’erent 
colouring, which is given to the same actions, and with what equal 
zeal and confidence the same man, who is stigmatized by his enemies 
as a rebel and a traitor, is by his friends venerated as a saint, and 
admired as a hero,”— Annual Review for 1805. 




241 


little soever a part liis conscience had in it, 
was a piece of sound policy well adapted to 
the spirit of the times; and he experienced 
its beneficial effects. It regained him the 
favour of the Pope, exculpated him in the 
eyes of the world, averted the thunders of 
excommunication in that age so terrible, and 
assured to him the affections of his subjects. 
Such a conduct would, in this age, be absurd; 
but it was perfectly adapted to the times in 
which he lived. In these days it would excite 
ridicule: in the twelfth century it commanded 
admiration and applause. 

In the simple concerns of private life, rigid 
and wrong are terms of which the meaning is 
in a great measure fixed and invariable, easily 
defined and appropriated ; but in the com¬ 
plicated cases arising from the influence of 
systems, political or religious, and the pre¬ 
valence of current opinions, they vary with 
the complexion of the times and the varia¬ 
tion of circumstances. What one age ap¬ 
plauds another ridicules and condemns: many 
of the general ideas, current opinions, and 
established customs of our ancestors, many 
of their modes of thinking and acting incur 
our disapprobation and censure; and perhaps 
not a few of ours will be subjects of ridicule 
to posterity. In all cases, when we make an 

r ’ • 


242 


estimation of tlie characters and conduct of 
men, the circumstances of the times in which 
they lived, as well as those of their peculiar 
situation, and all the whole aggregate of 
particulars, which influenced their sphere of 
action, ought to constitute a principal subject 
of consideration. This is the standard by 
which we must, in a great measure, regulate 
our judgment, the luminary that must direct 
our understanding in these disquisitions. 

It is impossible to make a just estimate of 
actions without being acquainted with the 
motives by which they are prompted ; and 
these are often extremely difficult to in¬ 
vestigate. It is therefore no wonder that we 
should often be liable to mistake. The most 
hazardous enterprises, the most daring flights 
of ambition, and the most brilliant achieve¬ 
ments are sometimes the effects of necessity 
rather than of choice. A difficult situation 
frequently imposes those tasks which would 
not otherwise be voluntarily undertaken ; 
and exploits which obtain our applause as 
well as crimes, which excite our abhorrence, 
are sometimes owing rather to imperious 
circumstances than to the virtuous or vicious 
inclinations of the agents in such trans¬ 
actions. Unavoidable consequences result 
from certain situations. In admiring the 


243 


t 


successful rashness of Cortez, it must also be 
considered, that had he not achieved the 
conquest of Mexico, he would have been re¬ 
conducted to Cuba as a prisoner, and tried as 
a rebel ; and in contemplating with horror 
the civil wars, the treasons and usurpations 
which have so frequently happened among' 
the Princes of the house of Tamerlane, as 
well as among the other despots of Asia, it 
must be remembered, that most of them were 
so circumstanced as to have no other alter¬ 
native than the throne or the scaffold. Such 
has been the critical situation of many dis¬ 
tinguished persons, as necessarily to produce 
great successes or great misfortunes; but in 
every estimation of conduct and character, 
the whole assemblage of existing circum- 
stances must be taken into the account. 

Biography, which if perfect, would be not 
only the most entertaining but also the most 
valuable department of history, is, of all 
others, the most erroneous and defective. 
Those works which are professedly biogra¬ 
phical, are generally little better than a tissue 
of misrepresentations and mistakes, the un¬ 
merited panegyrics of friends, or the malevo¬ 
lent censures of enemies. These defects are 
almost inseparable from biographical rela¬ 
tions, unless a person undertake to be his own 

r 2 


r 


244 


biographer; when he does this, indeed, we 
cannot doubt of the likeness of the picture if 
we can rely on the painter’s fidelity. A very 
trifling degree of attention to the multitudi¬ 
nous mass of misrepresentation, which is 
always abroad in the world, will suffice to 
convince us of the difficulty of procuring 
correct information relative to the private 
characters of our cotemporaries. If a person 
should undertake to delineate a biographical 
picture of his own neighbourhood, he could 
scarcely do more than exhibit correct out¬ 
lines : the shades and colouring would be in 
a great measure the work of fancy or the 
result of misinformation. Few men acquaint 
their friends or their neighbours with their 
private concerns, with the most interesting 
occurrences of their lives, with their particular 
views, and the secret motives of their conduct. 
The general practice of mankind, on the con¬ 
trary, is to conceal, as much as possible, from 
the public eye, those particulars which con¬ 
stitute the nicer shades of character; and it 
is only from common report, which is for the 
most part false, that they are enregistered in 
the chronicles of the biographer. An intimate 
acquaintance with these shades and colours, 
however, is absolutely necessary, in order to 
complete the moral and intellectual picture. 


/ 


I 


245 

If this knowledge be so difficult to attain in 
respect of our cotemporaries and neighbours, 
it can scarcely be expected that the portraits, 
which history furnishes, should be exact re¬ 
semblances. It is only by examining actions 
in connexion with the manners and opinions 
of different ages and countries, and the whole 
combination of influencing circumstances, that 
motives can be traced, the views of men de¬ 
veloped, and their characters appreciated. 


k 3 


246 




ESSAY XVIII. 


ON TIIE KNOWLEDGE OF MANKIND. 

Of all the subjects of human investigation, 
the knowledge of mankind is of the most 
general utility: It is even in some degree 
necessary, unless we would sequester ourselves 
from the world, and in the solitude of an 
anchorite renounce all intercourse with the 
human species. We have already made some 
remarks on the deductions and allowances 
that ought to be made, and the circumstantial 
modifications that ought to be admitted, in 
forming our judgment of the conduct and 
characters of those men w ho have made a 
conspicuous figure in life, and attracted the 
notice of cotemporaries or of posterity. 

But what is more generally understood by 
the knowledge of mankind, is the facility of 
discovering the inclinations, the dispositions, 
and interests of those with whom w e mix in 
the various connexions of business or pleasure, 


247 


and of penetrating into the motives the most 
likely to actuate their conduct in the various 
circumstances of social intercourse. 

Knowledge of the world is a term used by 
many to signify some acquaintance with polite 
life, with the fashionable circles, the public 
amusements, and the busy idleness of the 
town. The mind, however, which coniines 
its observations and ideas within the sphere 
of what is called the polite world, acquires a 
knowledge of mankind somewhat similar to 
that of the cloystered monk, who sees human 
nature only as it is modified within the walls 
of amonastry, shackled by vows and regulated 
by prescribed rules ; and who being inspired 
with a contempt for temporal pursuits, views 
only one particular scene of existence, ex¬ 
hibited under various restrictions and ad¬ 
ventitious modifications, and disregards the 
varied bustle of the active world from which 
he is sequestered by the sanctity of vows, and 
separated by the walls of his sacred retire¬ 
ment. 

The real characters of men can be known 
only by their general conduct in life, and 
their deportment in domestic privacy, and 
not by the appearance which they assume in 
public. We must follow them to their ac- 
compting-houses, to their shops, to their farms, 

R 4 . 


248 


and not to their feasts, their entertainments, 
and assemblies, where they act under a re¬ 
straint and exhibit themselves in masquerade. 
The gay, the jovial companion who shows 
himself to the greatest advantage at a public 
entertainment, or convivial meeting, when 
enlivening society and the cheerful glass 
rouse his torpid powers, is often the dullest, 
the surliest, and most melancholy being upon 
earth, in the sedateness of retirement and the 
scenes of domestic life. 

The know ledge of mankind in the detail is 
not less useful than a general knowledge of 
human nature; but it is an experimental and 
practical science, not a speculative theory. 
A general knowledge of the human character 
may, in some measure, be acquired by reading 
and reflection ; but to investigate the actu¬ 
ating motives, the view s, the interests and 
passions of individuals, and the operations of 
their impulses, in connexion with various 
peculiarities of situation, requires a great 
accuracy of remark and depth of penetration. 
Every one is acquainted with the nature and 
general operation of the human passions ; but 
it is not easy to know in what manner any 
particular one will operate in every mind, and 
under every possible combination of circum- 

> • * * w 

stances. Persons, w ho from the influence of 


249 


various contingencies, have formed different 
associations of ideas, act in a very different 
manner under the impulse of the samepassion. 
Ambition, in different persons, gives rise to 
views and desires so exceedingly dissimilar, 
that it is almost impossible to discover that 
they originate from the same source. The 
actions of men, however impelled by passion, . 
are in a great measure modelled by habit; 
and habits are formed from previously exist¬ 
ing circumstances. Of all the passions, avarice, 
if genuine, is perhaps the most uniform in its 
operation, and is generally esteemed the most 
distinguishable in its effects. W hat is att ributed 
to its operation may, however, many times, 
originate from a different cause, and be the 
effect of a passion of a very different nature. 
We see a person intent on hoarding up money, 
and immediately pronounce him avaricious; 
but perhaps we know nothing of the matter 
on which we make so hasty and positive a 
decision. Perhaps we are totally ignorant of 
the motives of his conduct. Do we certainly 
know whether he be actuated by the love ol 
money or the love of independence ; by a 
laudable pride which inspires him with a 
desire of raising himself above that state of 
humiliating inferiority, which, in the estima¬ 
tion of the world, is always annexed to in- 


250 


digence. If the subject of our observation 
have a wife and children, how can we dis¬ 
criminate between an inordinate attachment 
to the possession of riches, and an excess of 
conjugal and parental affection. He casts 
his eyes on his rising family, consisting, per¬ 
haps, of a numerous offspring, and with 
anxious concern for their welfare, anticipates 
the period when they must launch into a 
world in which wants are multiplied, and 
poverty is regarded with contempt. But 
perhaps he is already blessed with affluence, 
and cannot have any ground of apprehension 
for the future prosperity of his family: \\ hen, 
therefore, he is seen strenuously endeavour¬ 
ing, with unremitted efforts, to augment his 
wealth, the superficial observer and reasoner 
immediately thinks himself authorised to 
consider avarice as his predominant passion. 
It is not impossible, however, that ambition 
alone may actuate his conduct. He may, 
perhaps, have in contemplation some great 
project, which cannot be accomplished with¬ 
out an enormous expence ; and this single 
consideration may possibly be that which 
determines the whole plan of his pecuniary 
arrangements, which stimulates him to ac¬ 
quisition, and restrains him from dissipation. 
If it be considered that money is the chief 


251 


means of satisfying all the demands of pride, 
and of accomplishing all the projects of am¬ 
bition, as well as of gratifying the inclina¬ 
tions of avarice, it requires no extraordinary 

degree of penetration to discover that the 

■ 

modes in which these different passions 
Operate, are often so complicated and blend¬ 
ed together as not to admit of an easy dis¬ 
crimination. 

If avarice be a term applied in a positive 
and absolute sense to the love of money for 
the sake of itself, without a reference to some 
other object, although the world may afford 
some instances of individuals in whom this 
absurdity of ideas and sentiments appears to 
exist, yet an accurate observer of human 
nature, who can analyze the operations of the 
mind, trace its ideas, and discriminate the 
effects of the different passions, will readily 
conclude that the number of avaricious per¬ 
sons, in this acceptation of the term, must be 
extremely few. It is, indeed, scarcely possible 
to conceive how the mere possession of money, 
without any reference to its use, can afford 
much gratification to the mind; but when it 
is considered in conjunction with its various 
relations of utility the difficulty vanishes. 
Those even who seem to delight in the pos¬ 
session without the enjoyment of wealth, and 


25 2 


♦ 


in the midst of affine rice deny themselves ail 
the comforts and even the necessaries of life, 
derive their satisfaction from the pleasing 
reflections excited by ideas of comparison. 
Their riches compared with those of their 
more indigent neighbours, present to their 
minds the possibility of procuring those com¬ 
forts which others, less opulent, are not able 
to obtain; and the power of enjoying, even 
without actual enjoyment, is pleasing. In ail 
cases, indeed, how little delight soever is 
taken in the exercise of power, the conscious¬ 
ness of possessing it is always agreeable to the 
mind. 

To know, with certainty, in what manner 
different minds are affected by the same 
passions or the same considerations, it would 
be requisite to be acquainted not only with 
their constitutional texture and ideal associa¬ 
tions, but also with all the external circum¬ 
stances that can influence their notions and 
sentiments; but the assemblage forms a tissue 
of indication too complex to be easily un¬ 
ravelled. it is not more difficult to distin¬ 
guish, in many cases, the love of money, in 
the common acceptation of the term, from that 
ol some other object which money may be 
considered as, the means of obtaining, than to 
judge of the impressions which love, grief, 




253 




pride, or resentment ‘may make on minds 
possessing different degrees of sensibility, and 
influenced by different habits and modes of 
thinking, resulting from a variety of previous 
or present causes. 

As the knowledge of mankind, in common 
life, depends on long experience and accurate 
observation, it cannot be acquired from books 
alone, and consequently, without some further 
assistance than they can afford, youth must 
enter on the theatre of action totally ignorant 
of a science daily and indispensably necessary 
in their intercourse with society. Parents, 
therefore, whom experience has taught the 
useful lesson, ought to teach it to their 
children, and communicate to them some 
knowledge of the world, before they find 
themselves obliged to take an active part in 
its variegated scenes. In the instructions 
given to youth, there seems, however, to be in 
this respect an almost general defect, which 
is frequently productive of consequences ex¬ 
tremely pernicious and sometimes fatal. We 
endeavour to inspire them with sentiments of 
virtue, which is indeed an indispensable re¬ 
quisite in forming the mind, and ought to 
be the primary object of all juvenile in¬ 
struction. We seem, however, in a great 
measure, to conceal from their knowledge the 


254 


existence of vice; and yet it must certainly 
be developed, in order to show its deformity. 
After all our endeavours to withdraw the 
eyes of youth from contemplating the picture 
of a profligate world, vice and folly actually 
exist, and cannot be concealed from their view. 
Even during the period of tutorage, history 
will display an almost continued series of 
crimes ; and a newspaper cannot be read, 
without making them acquainted with in¬ 
stances of robbery, theft, fraud, seduction, 
and a variety of other examples of criminality. 
As all these circumstances will rush on the 
observation of youth, parental prudence ought 
to call the attention to these effects of human 
depravity, paint their deformity, and point 
out their consequences. Were it possible 
entirely to conceal from youth the exhibition 
of vice, no good purpose could thereby be 
attained; the world, at their entrance on its 
theatre, would convince them of its existence, 
allure them with a fallacious view of its per¬ 
nicious pleasures, and furnish them with 
examples for imitation. 

The first thing requisite for the avoiding 
or the resisting of danger, is to be convinced 
of its existence and warned of its approach ; 
and to be acquainted with its nature and ex¬ 
tent is necessary, in order to proportion the 


255 


means of defence to those of attack. If it 
were practicable to prevent a young person 
from having any idea of the vices and follies 
that every where prevail, the consequence 
would be that entering, perhaps, all at 
once into the world, he would find himself 
launched into an unknown ocean, and totally 
unacquainted with the rocks and shoals 
which every where surround him, and every 
moment threaten him with shipwreck. How, 
indeed, can a person, who lias never viewed 
the world but on the favourable side, be on 
his guard against those fraudulent practices 
which men almost every where exercise to¬ 
wards one another ? How shall he secure his 
property from depredation, or his morals 
from the contagion of evil example ? A. 
young man, thus entering on the stage of 
active life, ignorant of the too general pre¬ 
valence of vice, and of the duplicity of man¬ 
kind, becomes the dupe of every one who is 
crafty enough to take advantage of his sim¬ 
plicity ; and a young woman, who is in the 
same predicament, often falls a victim to the 
first seducer who considers her as an object 
w orthy of his attention. 

A young person, thus permitted to remain 
ignorant of w hat is every day met w ith in the 
world, until the period when experience, 


sometimes indeed to liis cost, must correct 
his want of information, finds it scarcely 
possible to resist the influence of bad ex¬ 
amples. lie carries along with him into 
society the ideas which he has imbibed from 
lessons of virtue, unmixed with exhibitions of 
vice, and is surprised on discovering that the 
world so little resembles the picture which 
he had formed of it in his imagination. He 

sees a system of manners and modes of think- 
•/ 

ing and acting so very different from what he 
had expected, that he begins to consider his 
former ideas as nothing better than a tissue 
of antiquated notions in no respect adapted 
to the intercourse of life. The companions 
of his hours of recreation soon laugh him out 
of his former principles. To these he-en¬ 
deavours to recommend himself by shaking 
off what he deems the prejudices of liis child¬ 
hood ; and it frequently happens that at last 
lie is plunged into the depths of vice, and 
reduced to a level with those who have been 
educated within the precincts of St. Giles’s, 
and initiated in all the mysteries of vice and 
profligacy. 

The exhibition of vice, when arrayed in its 
genuine colours, and in connexion with its 
baleful consequences, cannot tend to vitiate 
juvenile ideas. On the contrary, the monster. 


257 


by being divested of its borrowed robes, and 
shown in its naked deformity, would make 
on the youthful mind an impression that 
would not be easily erased, and prevent the 
formation of those false and pernicious ideas, 
which result from seeing it exhibited for the 
first time under the fallacious appearances 
which it often assumes. Would it not there- 
fore be much better that it should be displayed 
in contrast with virtue, its nature defined, 
where decency permits, and its fatal tendency 
pointed out; so that youth being made ac¬ 
quainted with its existence, and apprized of 
its consequences, might avoid its snares, 
instead of rushing upon dangers unseen and 
unsuspected, and thus falling the victims of 
duplicity or pernicious example. The want 
of this previous information, and these neces¬ 
sary cautions, appears to be the principal cause 
of the numerous instances of children virtu¬ 
ously educated, who, at their first entrance 
into the world, inconsiderately plunge into all 
its vices and follies. 

Of all the various kinds of knowledge that 
can be investigated by study, or acquired by 
experience, that of mankind is certainly the 
most difficult, the most variegated, and the 
most extensively ramified. It is as various as 
the passions, the circumstances, and views of 

$ 


258 


individuals ; and its progress and operations 
are impeded by the impenetrability of their 
designs. From the experience of those who 
are hackneyed in the ways of the world, youth 
may obtain the information that is necessary 
for the regulation of practice in all ordinary 
cases ; but the mind is an intricate labyrinth, 
often impossible to be explored; ami the 
knowledge of mankind will ever be an un¬ 
certain science, and liable to a variety of 
mistakes. 

It seems not unreasonable to think that 
persons, who are placed in an elevated station, 
have not so favourable an opportunity of 
acquiring the knowledge of mankind, as those 
whom their destiny has fixed in the middle 
class of society, and who are so circumstanced 
as to be occasionally conversant with persons 
both of a superior and an inferior rank. The 
great, whenever accident may give them an 
opportunity of contemplating the manners 
and characters of the lower classes, view them 
under the fallacious colouring of an artificial 
disguise. On such occasions, the inferior 
endeavours, as much as possible, to assume 
the appearance of a different person from 
what he is: he speaks as his superior speaks, 
and strives to make him believe that he thinks 
also as he does; but when the interview is 


250 


over, and the former returns into his own 
circle, he is then himself again, and his words, 
his actions, and even his propensities lie open 
to inspection. The most advantageous post 
that can be occupied by a curious observer of 
human nature, is a station not so highly ele¬ 
vated as to induce those with whom he con¬ 
verses, to dissemble their sentiments, and 
assume a borrowed character; nor yet so abject 
as to exclude him from the privilege of mixing 
occasionally with different ranks of society. 
Ilis situation in life should be sufficiently 
respectable to procure him admission among 
different classes of people; but not so exalted 
as to deter them from declaring their opinions, 
displaying their talents, exposing their pre¬ 
judices, and betraying their weaknesses. With¬ 
out a considerable degree of familiarity with 
men, it is impossible to obtain a knowledge 
of their dispositions* to penetrate their views, 
to investigate their characters, and trace the 
picture of their minds. 

If the lower or middle stations of life be 
more favourable to the investigation of the 
characters of men than those which are more 
exalted, it must, however, be confessed that 
those who are placed in them are often desti¬ 
tute of the abilities necessary for accurate 
observation. On the contrary, persons of a 

s 2 


26’0 


distinguished rank, having, in general, had a 
better education, and being more accustomed 
to habits of reflection, possess a greater degree 
of penetration than those who are of an in¬ 
ferior class. This may, therefore, in some 
measure, bring the matter to a balance, or 
even cast the scale in favour of the observer of 
rank and eminence, in whom superior abilities, 
justness of discernment, and a general know¬ 
ledge of human nature, may, in a great 
measure, compensate the want of intercourse 
with the lower orders of the people. 

To acquire a complete knowledge of the 
world, a person must observe the manners of 
the country as well as of the town; of the 
cottage as well as of the palace. The great 
Dr. Johnson very sagaciously observes, that 

The true state of every nation is the state of 
common life. The manners of a people are 
not to be found in the schools of learning, or 
the palaces of greatness, where the national 
character is obscured or obliterated by travel 
or instruction, by philosophy or vanity; nor is 
public happiness to be estimated by the as¬ 
semblies of the gay, or the banquets of the 
rich. The great mass of nations is neither 
rich nor gay. They whose aggregate con¬ 
stitutes the people, are found in the streets 
and the villages, the shops and the farms, and 


261 


from them collectively considered, must the 
measure of public or general prosperity be 
taken/’ And we may add of public manners 
also; for these observations are equally as 
applicable to public character as to public 
felicity. 

It is with many a favourite notion that 
they are able, at the first sight, to form an 
accurate judgment of a person’s character; 
and in consequence of that supposition make, 
at the first interview, their estimate of his 
abilities, and sometimes even of his natural 
disposition*. Some may, perhaps, be endowed 
with an extraordinary degree of penetration, 
and an accuracy of observation which is very 
far from being general; but whatever acute¬ 
ness a person may possess, this precipitancy 
of judging must very frequently expose him 
to the hazard of mistake. He will very often 
find character in contradiction to physiogno¬ 
mical indications, and all the rules of a Lava- 
ter insufficient for the direction of his opinion. 
To explore the recesses of the human mind, 
and investigate the complexity of thought is 
no easy task. A man is frequently seen in 
such a situation as affords nothing that can 
either excite his passions or call his talents, 
whatever way they may be, into exertion. 
He may be engaged in conversation, but the 

s 3 


topics may be so unimportant as to offer hint 
no opportunity of displaying his knowledge, 
or distinguishing himself from those who are 
beyond comparison his inferiors, in respect of 
intellectual powers, scientific skill, or literary 
acquirements. In forming our opinions in 
this respect, we ought to make just allowances 
for the circumstances in which a man is 
placed, and the incidental considerations by 
which his conversation and behaviour may 
be influenced and actuated. This, how ever, is 
often extremely difficult: we seldom know the 
impulses which operate on his mind, determine 
his conduct, and give a particular cast to his 
conversation. It is, indeed, impossible to dis¬ 
cover the impressions that may, at any par¬ 
ticular moment, be made on a person’s mind, 

by a thousand circumstances with which we 

* “ » 

are totally unacquainted. The same man 
who at one time is remarked for his vivacity, 
may, at another, appear dull and languid in 
conversation, through causes which we have 
not the means of iuyestigating. To estimate 
the extent of his knowledge, and the measure 
of his intellectual powers, we must see his 
talents brought forward to our inspection by 
various kinds of conversation ; and to become 
acquainted with his disposition and general 
character, it is necessary to be upon terms of 


203 


familiarity with him for some length of time, 
and to observe his behaviour in a variety of 
circumstances. With these advantages it is 
not difficult to draw a rough sketch of his 
mind, and the outlines of his character ; but 
to obtain a finished picture, exhibiting the 
nicer discriminations of light and shade, 
resulting from the operation of an infinity of 
causes, requires a degree of sagacity and 
penetration which every one cannot be sup¬ 
posed to possess. 


204 


ESSAY XIX. 

ON FRIENDSHIP. 


h 

There are few circumstances of human 
life, on which moral writers have more amply 
expatiated than on friendship, and few of 
which the pictures they have drawn, have 
oftener been demonstrated to be only ideal. 
Whoever, indeed, expects to meet with the 
originals in life, will, for the most part, find 
himself egregiously mistaken, and may, per¬ 
haps, suffer no small inconvenience before 
the error be rectified by a more perfect ac¬ 
quaintance with mankind. 

We have been told that friends should be 

• • *■' i 

actuated by the same principles, the same 
sentiment, and, as it were, by the same soul; 
but when are two or more independent per¬ 
sons actuated in this manner ? That their 
interests should be the same ; but where is 
this found ? Interests may, indeed, coincide, 
and this coincidence may be, and often is, 
the basis of friendship, but very rarely its 
consequence. Where this union of interests 
is really found, it is the effect of the same 


2G5 


commercial or social circumstances and en¬ 
gagements, and, as it generally existed prior 
to the friendship which it may have created, 
and independent of it, would have been the 
same if no friendly connexion had been 
formed. 

The philosophers of antiquity have labour¬ 
ed to inculcate the notion of a romantic 
friendship, easy to be conceived in theory, 
but difficult to be reduced to practice, and 
next to impossible to be met with in life. 
History has, indeed, furnished us with some 
instances of its real existence ; but these 
examples are so rare, that to take them as 
models of conduct, or standards of expecta¬ 
tion, would be as unreasonable and absurd, 
as if every peasant thought of being raised 
to the sovereignty of an empire, because some 
obscure individuals have been so favoured 
by fortune. 

Visionary moralists have frequently asserted 
that a person should conceal no secret from 
his friend. Nothing, however, is more absurd 
than this maxim. In what degree can the 
knowledge of mv secrets be conducive to the 
happiness of my friend? It may be replied, 
that it gives him an additional degree of 
satisfaction to receive such a mark of con¬ 
fidence from a person whom he loves and 


2 66 


esteems ; but does it not rather impose on 
him an additional obligation, and, con¬ 
sequently, an increased burden; and all cases 
duly considered, would that trifling* pleasure, 
which my friend might derive from the com¬ 
munication, counterbalance the risk that I 
should incur by making him the master of 
my secret, and thus putting it out of my own 
power ? If my friend reveals to me an im¬ 
portant secret, in which his own interest, not 
mine, is concerned, my pride or self-love 
might be flattered by such a mark of con¬ 
fidence ; but I ought to consider it as a bur¬ 
den. It could not be conducive to my happi¬ 
ness if it had no relation to my interests, and 
I should have been not Jess happy without 
knowing any thing of the matter. 

An unguarded communication of secrets, 
like the too readily and profusely lending of 
money, has a much greater tendency to dis¬ 
solve than to cement friendship ; and what 
has been observed of the latter case may, with 
equal propriety, be applied to the former, 
“ Keep your money if you w ould keep your 
friend,” is a prudential maxim, which, how ¬ 
ever repugnant to delicacy of sentiment, and 
the refined notions of romantic friendship, is, 
in the practical affairs of life, but too generally 
found perfectly consonant to sound w isdom 


267 


and discretion ; and “ Keep your secret if 
you would keep your friend, 55 is a counsel 
that may, with equal propriety, be established 
as a valuable rule of conduct. \\ e cannot 
always rely on the prudence no more than on 
the integrity of those we call our friends; 
and it must be observed, that he who is the 
depositary of another man’s secret, is placed 
in a disagreeable predicament. He who re¬ 
veals his secret to me, may, perhaps, com¬ 
municate it to another, and possibly to two 
or three more; and when, through this im¬ 
prudence, it becomes public, as it is often the 
case, the divulging of it may very possibly 
be laid to my charge; at least my friend may 
suspect my secrecy, and the coolness arising 
from such a suspicion, will greatly tend to 
the dissolution of our friendship. 

The absurdity of intrusting important 
secrets to another person’s discretion, is de¬ 
monstrable from reason and experience ; and 
the imprudence of him w ho, without necessity 
or some particular and substantial reason, 
makes any other person their depositary, will 
ever be marked with the sincere disapproba¬ 
tion of all w ise men. Such an one, indeed, 

« 

has no right to condemn with too much 
asperity the friend, who, in this case, betrays 
his trust; for he who is unable to keep his 


268 


i 


own secret, can scarcely, with reason, expect 
that it should be kept by another. hen 
secrets are communicated by imprudence, 
they ought, however, to be kept with religious 
scrupulosity by the person who receives the 
deposit: honour, as well as friendship, im¬ 
poses on him this obligation, and thus the 
imprudence of one friend may be, in some 
measure, remedied, or at least its bad conse¬ 
quences prevented by the other’s discretion. 
If my friend should, without some urgent 
reason, reveal to me a secret, the divulging 
of which might endanger his safety, injure his 
credit, or be in any respect prejudicial to his 
interest, 1 would scrupulously avoid reveal¬ 
ing it; but should, at the same time, form a 
very mean opinion of his prudence, and be 
careful not to requite the favour by a similar 
confidence ; for 1 should never consider a 
person fit to be intrusted with my secrets 
whom I should find incapable of keeping his 
own. 

* 

It was a maxim of Bias, one of the cele¬ 
brated sages of Greece, that a person ought 
always to act in regard to his friend as if he 
supposed that he might one day be his 
enemy. 1 his aphorism has been amply dis¬ 
cussed by moralists, and very generally dis¬ 
approved by the philosophers of succeeding 




269 


ages, wlio have ascribed it to a narrow and 
suspicious prudence, incompatible, as they 
say, with refined friendship, which requires 
openness of mind, and perfect freedom of 
communication. Some, among whom is 
Aristotle, have even doubted whether it could 
ever proceed from the mouth or the pen of so 
virtuous and wise a person as he to whom it 
was ascribed; but whatever a refined and ro¬ 
mantic theory may dictate, experience will, at 
every step that we take, in our journey through 
life, demonstrate its propriety, and mark it 
as a lesson of indispensable prudence to be 
rigidly and invariably observed in our inter¬ 
course with mankind. Notwithstanding all 
that sentimentalists may imagine or teach, 
friendships apparently the most affectionate 
and sincere, have very often degenerated into 
indifference, or even into the most rancorous 
enmity, and perhaps no practical case pre¬ 
cludes the possibility of such an event. Every 
one wiio has been conversant with the world, 
has had opportunities of observing instances 
of this kind, and too many can adduce their 
own experience as an evidence of the fact. 
Every one, in whatever station of life he is 
placed, may observe the fluctuating nature 
of w hat are called friendly connexions. Ab¬ 
sence, change of occupations, or interests, of 


270 


•views and expectations, new connexions, talse 
rumours, misrepresentations, a thousand va^ 
rious circumstances, in line may cool tlie glow 
of friendship, and dissolve the associations 
that are distinguished by that name. 

A person in early youth, perhaps, contracts 
what he supposes an unalterable friendship 
with one or more of his youthful associates. 
All young, lively, gay, disinterested, strangers 
to the world, and unexperienced in its troubles 
and cares, their ideas, their inclinations and 
views are the same; pleasure is their unani¬ 
mous pursuit; they are inseparable, and their 
connexion seems indissoluble. After every mo¬ 
mentary separation, they rejoin one another 
with heartfelt rapture: they relate with 
transport the scenes of youthful dissipation 
in which each has been engaged during the 
short interval of his absence, and all are 
equally happy in their reunion. This they 
denominate friendship, imagine the connexion 
to be permanent, and can scarcely dream of 
its dissolution. In process of time, the scenes 
of active life calling them to various employ¬ 
ments, they separate, plunge into the busy 
world, are involved in a labyrinth of cares, 
think little of one another, and view with 
indifference their former connexions and the 
moments of juvenile gaiety, w hich at a more 



early period gave them so much pleasure. 
Those who are not separated by too great a 
distance happen sometimes to meet: at first 
they are pleased to see one another; but these 
emotions are gradually weakened, and at every 
meeting less sensibly felt. In a few years 
they are almost totally extinguished ; one is 
risen to wealth, another sunk into poverty, 
another is married, and the company of his 
wife, the intercourse with her friends, the 
cares of a family, and the sentiments of con¬ 
jugal and parental affection, all concur to dis¬ 
unite him from his former habits, pursuits, 
and connexions. If one of them has been 
farther distant and longer absent than the 
rest, he may, by the alteration of his own 
attachments, anticipate the change he will 
find in those of his former companions. In 
new situations and altered circumstances, he 
has formed new connexions, contracted new 
habits, acquired new ideas, and adopted views 
totally different from those which he had 
once entertained. And whenever he again 
meets with the friends and companions of 
his juvenile years, he finds their unreserved 
intimacy sunk into cold and distant civility, 
and a faint recollection left as the only trace 
of its former existence. 


272 


The friendships contracted in matnrer 
years, are often stili less permanent, as they 
are commonly less sincere, less lively, and less 
disinterested. In the busy world, all those 
intimacies, called by the name of friend¬ 
ship, are mere pecuniary associations, owing 
their existence to motives of interest, and 
dependent on them for their continuance* 
As soon as new prospects open, new projects 
are formed, or new interests arise, they pro¬ 
duce new connexions, old ones are then over¬ 
looked and soon totally forgotten; and among 
the consequences of these changes, may not 
unfrequently be reckoned competitions, which 
turn the greatest apparent friendships into 
the bitterest enmity. These are real, not 
imaginary cases. The world daily exhibits 
examples of this kind; and prudence renders 
it necessary to listen to such repeated admo¬ 
nitions. 

But, say the sentimental moralists, the 
connexions here alluded to, are not founded 
in that union of hearts, of views, desires and 
inclinations which we denominate friendship, 
but which are only casual associations arising 
from interest, pleasure, and conveniency. 

They are not, indeed, those romantic friend¬ 
ships so much cried up by sentimental writers, 


273 


and so rarely to be found; they are, however, 
fhese kinds of intimacies which constitute 
the real friendships of life. Instances of 
friendship, such as they describe, and which 
alone they dignify with that title, may have 
actually existed; the case is certainly not im¬ 
possible, but they are so rare as to constitute 
a moral phenomenon, which so few can ex¬ 
pect to witness, that many lives might be 
spent in the search, and hope must a thousand 
times experience the mortification of dis¬ 
appointment* 

This, say the visionary advocates of ro¬ 
mantic friendship, happens through the un¬ 
skilful choice of our friends. T hey tell us 
that congeniality of disposition, similarity of 
views and pursuits, and above all, strict 
virtue, constitute the basis of pure and disin¬ 
terested amity; and it must be acknowledged, 
that without having these principles for its 
foundation, it is no more than a mere social 
connexion of a casual, transient, and fluctua¬ 
ting nature. Of this kind, however, are in 
general the associations to be met with in 
life. 

If prudence forbids us to affix the idea of 
permanency to any friendship but such as is 
founded on this threefold basis, our ex¬ 
perience and observation of mankind will 

T 


274 


convince us that the generality of social 
connexions preclude its admission. Not to 
mention that in the scenes of active life, a 
similarity of views and pursuits frequently 
give rise to competitions destructive to friend¬ 
ship, few persons have the opportunity of 
meeting with this congeniality of disposition 
in those with whom imperious circumstances 
oblige them to form their connexions ; and 
fewer still have the happiness of finding un¬ 
questionable virtue for the basis of their 
choice. To call in question the existence of 
virtue, would be nothing less than to fix a 
stigma on the human species; but it is so rare, 
that We may reasonably suspect the sincerity 
of its ostensible profession, and question the 
evidence of its exterior show. 

The existence of virtue being universally 
experienced to be rare, its ostensible appear¬ 
ances, susceptible of disguise, and its exterior 
marks too often equivocal, it is evident that 
our estimation of it may frequently be erro¬ 
neous. If reason could doubt of this, daily 
experience would confirm the justness of the 
observation, and teach us to beware of the 
duplicity of mankind. No man can know 
the heart of another, nor penetrate into its 
secret recesses: its excellence or its depravity 
can be estimated only by the exterior signs 


275 


of words and actions, and these admit of 
various disguises. Charity and justice, equally 
require that we should judge favourably of 
those with whom we live ; but prudence, at 
the same time, forbids us to put such con¬ 
fidence in their professions or appearances, as 
may give them too great an advantage over 
us, and put our interests and welfare too 
much in their power. 

Virtue, we may charitably presume, is not 
so completely banished from the world, as to 
render the existence of friendship such as the 
most confident hope might expect, the most 
romantic imagination might delineate, and 
the greatest refinement of sentiment might 
desire, impossible; but it must be acknow¬ 
ledged, that vice sufficiently abounds to render 
it exceedingly doubtful ; and to ground ex¬ 
pectation on mere possibilities, against which 
the chances are multiplied in the proportion 
of thousands to one, must be the highest 
degree of imprudence. 

If general rules were proposed for the choice 
and cultivation of social and friendly con¬ 
nexions, perhaps no better could be adopted 
than to extend our benevolence to all men, 
but to place too much confidence in none: to 
exercise our beneficence as much as we are 
able to every one who is entitled to com- 

t 2 



276 


passion, or to whom we can be in any respect 
serviceable; to be affable to all, and familiar 
fo those with whom chance or choice has 
particularly connected us; to cultivate friend¬ 
ship with those whom we judge worthy of 
particular regard, but without intrusting 
them with our secrets, or the management of 
our interests, unless where circumstances 
render it unavoidable ; not to presume too 
much on the sincerity of friends, or the per¬ 
manency of friendly connexions, but care¬ 
fully to avoid the misfortune, or rather the 
misconduct of being compelled to reproach 
ourselves with the folly of having placed an 
implicit confidence in so imperfect and in¬ 
constant a being as man. 

The young and inexperienced are the most 
frequently deceived in their connexions. 
Their friendships are contracted without 
considering any thing more than superficial 
accomplishments, qualifications agreeable for 
a moment, or present views and temporary 
pursuits : they imagine that these intimacies, 
thus formed, will be durable, and never re¬ 
flect on the alterations which a thousand 
accidental causes may produce. Regardless 
of the consequences, they unbosom their 
thoughts to those whom they call their 
friends, without considering whether they be 


I 


277 

such in reality or pretence; whether their 
prudence entitle them to confidence, and 
whether the connexion be founded on such a 
basis as may afford a reasonable assurance, 
or at least a probable expectation of its 
permanency. They lay themselves too con¬ 
fidently at their mercy, and generally have 
reason to repent of their frankness. This is 
a common error in the conduct of those who 
are not hackneyed by experience in the ways 
of mankind. 

Those who have advanced farther in their 
journey through life, especially those whose 
observations and experience of human nature 
and human circumstances have been more 
varied and extensive, generally act in a 
different manner, and weigh the consequences 
of too easy a confidence. It is a common, 
and, perhaps, a just observation, that youth 
is generally open and unsuspecting, age 
circumspect and suspicious; and very pro¬ 
bably, each may often run into the opposite 
extreme, one on the side of rash confidence, 
the other of jealous caution. This observa¬ 
tion is, in general, made on the whole con¬ 
duct of man in the former and latter period 
of life; but it seems particularly applicable 
in regard to social, and what are generally 
called friendly connexions. In this par- 

T 3 


278 


ticular, the difference between youth and 

more mature years, has its reason in the nature 

•/ * 

of things, and is not difficult to ascribe to its 
true cause. Youth, inexperienced in the. 
ways of the world, and unacquainted with 
the duplicity of mankind, easily confide in 
their professions of friendship, while those 
who are more advanced in years, tutored by 
experience, and conversant in the ways of 
men, are diffident of their sincerity, and enter¬ 
tain but little expectation of their constancy. 
Those who have taken an extensive survey 
of the circumstances of human life, have dis¬ 
covered that they involve a multiplicity of 
complication, of which the effects are too 
intricate and variable to be foreseen; and this 
consideration both generates and justifies 
circumspection. Disappointment has so often 
frustrated their expectations, and experience 
has so completely accustomed them to the 
selfishness, the inconstancy, and the impru¬ 
dence of mankind, that they are often more 
liable to err on the side of caution than of 
confidence, which they are but little inclined 
to place in those whom they know to be 
weak, and supect to be wicked. 

In many of the affairs of life, how ever, a 
person may miscarry through an excess of 
caution, as well as through too great a 


279 


temerity : the latter lias sometimes, indeed, 
been successful, but the former, if carried too 
far, is incompatible with arduous enterprises. 
In contemplating the vices and follies of man¬ 
kind, a person may become a misanthrope, 
consign himself to unsocial solitude in the 
midst of the crowd of life, and imagine that 
he sees an enemy in every man, and hypocrisy 
in every countenance. By too easy a con¬ 
fidence on the other hand, he puts himself in 
the power of every designing sycophant, and 
becomes a mere tool in the hands of every 
one who has sufficient penetration to discover 
his weakness, and the address to turn it to his 
own advantage. It is, perhaps, not easy to 
determine on which side a partial deviation 
may be attended by the fewest bad con¬ 
sequences, as this depends on the nature of 
particular cases ; but the two extremes are, 
perhaps, equally blameable and equally per¬ 
nicious. Prudent circumspection, and social 
benevolence, concur in requiring us to pre¬ 
serve a just medium, and not implicitly to 
follow the directions of those who exaggerate 
either the vices or the virtues of mankind; 
who would excite either universal distrust, 
or unlimited confidence; who either deny the 
existence of real friendship, or make it consist 

T 4 


280 

in a visionary assemblage of ideal duties, and 
useless requisitions. 

The definition of friendship given by senti¬ 
mental philosophers is captivating; but we 
ought to beware of regarding it as any thing 
more than an ideal representation. They 
have delineated the picture from an imaginary 
model; but we must not be dazzled with the 
brilliancy of the colours. We must not ex¬ 
pect to find friends, such as imagination may 
paint, but such as are really to be met with, 
nor consider what mankind ought to be, but 
what they really are. 

Such a view of things w ould contribute to 
render friendship more permanent, and more 
effectually beneficial. It would teach us not 
to expect in our friends an exemption from the 
common frailties of human nature, but to 
bear with their imperfections and inadver¬ 
tences, without confiding too much in their 
virtue or sincerity, or putting it in their power 
to injure us either by their treachery or their 
imprudence, and never to mortify them by 
any show of suspicion, but to unite the easy 
appearance of an unlimited confidence, with 
cautious diffidence, and ever watchful circum¬ 
spection. By the observance of this rule, we 
may be good members of society, benevolent 
to all, and beneficent to our friends, and 


281 


joining the “ wisdom of the serpent with the 
innocency of the dove/’ (a caution very 
necessary in this world) be serviceable to 
others without exposing ourselves to be in¬ 
jured by their follies, their frailties, or their 
vices. We may thus act with propriety our 
part in all the various and multiplied con¬ 
nexions of civilized life, enjoy its associations, 
and partake with pleasure and satisfaction of 
such friendships as it affords; such, indeed, as 
will always be tinctured with the imper¬ 
fections of human nature; for we must not 
expect to meet with that romantic friendship 
so much cried up, but so seldom experienced, 
and which is, indeed, so rare, that the man 
who should set out on the pursuit, would, in 
all probability, w aste life in fruitless expecta¬ 
tion, like the naturalist in search of the 
Phoenix, and at last find ail his hopes ter¬ 
minated in disappointment. 


282 


ESSAY XX, 


Ciy COMPANY^ SOLITUDE , AND RETIREMENT . 


SOLITUDE and retirement are sometimes, 
but with little propriety, used as synonymous 
terms. They are, indeed, although often con¬ 
founded, extremely different: the former can 
only excite in the mind one simple and definite 
perception, but the latter is capable of many 
different senses, and conveys an idea of an 
indefinite nature, and susceptible of various 
modifications. On the pleasures of retire¬ 
ment, volumes have been written: both poets 
and moralists have bestowed upon it the same 
or as great encomiums as on the pastoral life, 
and in this respect they proceed on the same 
grounds. The rural or pastoral life is ex¬ 
hibited in so pleasing a point of view, by 
reason of the leisure and tranquil retirement 
which it is supposed to afford, although this 
calm tranquillity, this placid sequestration, 
this contemplative leisure and exemption 
from the pangs of anxiety and the corrosion 


283 


of care, considered as the inestimable append¬ 
ages of rural life, may be enjoyed in town as 
well as in the country, and cannot, indeed, be 
found in the latter except by those whose 
independence and affluence might command 
them in the former situation. 

Retirement is a general term, which admits 
of different interpretations, and different 
modes of comparison. It is sometimes con¬ 
sidered merely as a cessation from business, 
and sometimes as an absence from the fashion¬ 
able circles and amusements of the gay world. 
In these kinds of retirement, the company of 
friends may, without limitation of number, 
be enjoyed, and the retreats of the opulent 
may admit of a greater abundance and variety 
of social and convivial pleasures, than the 
public life of those who move in the inferior 
circles. But retirement used in this sense, is 
a term without any definite meaning, and 
cannot be reduced to a regular standard. To 
be set in opposition to company, it must ap¬ 
proach near to solitude, which may be con¬ 
sidered as its superlative degree. 

When retirement is no more than a volun¬ 
tary retreat from the busy or the fashionable 
world, it may be made equally agreeable and 
improving, as it affords leisure for the culti¬ 
vation of the mind, without imposing a seclu- 


284 


sion from society. Solitude may be pleasing 
to some persons of an eccentric or melancholy 
disposition of mind, and at proper intervals 
may be conducive to the improvement of 
genius and talents, and to the acquisition of 
knowledge; but if it be of long duration, it 
tends rather to weaken than to invigorate the 
intellectual powers. The mind sinks into a 
state of languor, and loses its energy as iron 
not used loses its brightness. Conversation 
is not less necessary to the mind than exercise 
to the body ; and without these neither can 
retain its vigour. The intellectual faculties 
may, indeed, be exercised to advantage in 
solitude, which is more favourable than com¬ 
pany to abstract speculations. In the former, 
extension of ideas and comprehension of 
thought may be acquired; vivacity and con¬ 
fidence in the latter. If solitude be favour¬ 
able, and even necessary to profound investiga¬ 
tion, and contemplative pursuits, fluency of 
speech, readiness of application, and that 
quickness of allusion which brings distant 
ideas instantaneously together, must be the 
effect of company and conversation. The 
man who is too much habituated to solitude 
and silence, is seldom fit for social converse. 
It is only by mixing with men that human 
nature can be known, the motives of action 



285 


examined, and the modes of life observed. In 
a state of seclusion from society, a man be¬ 
comes a stranger to the species, and whatever 
abstract science he may acquire, will remain 
destitute of the knowledge of mankind, the 
proper science of man. 

The effects of company and conversation 
are almost invariably conspicuous in dis¬ 
course. He w ho has never been accustomed 
to company, will infallibly find himself em¬ 
barrassed in his first introduction to the 
world. He discovers that conversation with 
his own mind is very different from conversa¬ 
tion with men; he is unprepared to meet 
opposition with confidence, and unexpected 
objections with ready reply, to bear up 
against noisy petulance, to contemn the at¬ 
tacks of ridicule, and the obstinacy of igno¬ 
rance. 

Many persons of consummate learning, and 
acknowledged abilities, have been remarkable 
for a timid reserve, and apparent dulness in 
conversation, at least, whenever they passed 
the limits of their familiar circles of select 
friends or particular acquaintance. Although 
this might, in some cases, proceed from a 
natural shyness of disposition, it appears 
more frequently to have risen from their 


i 


286 


habits of silent contemplation, and solitary 
reflection, which are diametrically opposite 
to those of reciprocal communication and 
social intercourse. A man who is accustomed 
to converse only with himself and his books, 
has leisure to arrange his ideas, to collect his 
scattered thoughts, and to digest his argu¬ 
ments. When contrarieties, contradictions, 
and exceptions present themselves, nothing 
impedes the balancing of contradictory evi¬ 
dence and opposite probabilities; all is done 
at leisure: the operations of the mind glide 
smoothly along, like a placid stream, with¬ 
out opposition or impediment. A person 
thus accustomed to converse with his own 
mind, supposes that conversation with the 
world will be of a similar nature, that reason 
w ill invariably predominate, and sound argu¬ 
ment always prevail. He finds this expecta¬ 
tion disappointed, and is in consequence 
disconcerted. He sees himself divested of his 
armour, in which he trusted and exposed, 
naked and defenceless, to an enemy with 
whose discipline and mode of w arfare he is 
unacquainted. Coming from solitude into 
company, he is unfit to contend with that 
quickness of reply, that shrewdness of remark, 
that obstinacy of argument, and that noisy 


287 


impetuosity of speech, which will disarrange 
his ideas, confuse his thoughts, embarrass his 
mind, and disconcert his plan of reasoning. 

The man of science and speculation, who, 
from the silent recess of his contemplative 
solitude, rushes into the world, often comes 
prepossessed with an exalted opinion of his 
own penetration, and the extent of his own 
knowledge. He has been accustomed to 
applaud his own observations, arguments, 
inferences, and conclusions; or perhaps to 
hear them approved and commended by 
some intimate friend, who has had the leisure 
to examine them, who delights in the same 
studies, and who is in some measure attached 
to the same pursuits, or accustomed to the 
same habits of life. In his state of seclusion 
he resembles a spider in some obscure corner 
of a room, which, having had the good fortune 
to escape the cleanly vigilance of the chamber¬ 
maid, sits enveloped in his web, disregarding 
the beauty of the cornices, the curious work¬ 
manship of the chimney-pieces, and the 
elegance of the furniture. Regardless of the 
work of the architect and the painter, and 
himself equally unnoticed, his ow n w eb is his 
world: just so the man who has been long 
accustomed to solitary studies, has his mind 
too frequently enveloped in a net-work of his 


288 


otVn ideas, which constitutes his intellectual 
universe. When he enters the world with 
tins strong persuasion of his own knowledge 
and abilities, he is surprised at finding him¬ 
self totally ignorant of a thousand subjects, 
which every one else understands. Discon¬ 
certed, abashed, and confounded, his em¬ 
barrassment may be compared to that of a 
general, who, marching, as he supposes, to 
certain victory, with a numerous and well- 
disciplined army, sees his plans disarranged, 
his hopes frustrated, his dreams of conquest 
dispelled, and his forces defeated by an enemy 
whose inferiority he despised, and from whom 
he expected but a feeble resistance. As the 
general discovers the inefficacy of his tactics, 
the sequestered philosopher perceives the 
inutility of his solitary studies, and the 
deficiency of his knowledge. lie is then 
convinced that as his ideas have been formed 
in solitude, they are better calculated for a 
state of solitary meditation, than for actual 
converse with mankind. 

In every thing, excess is hurtful to the 
mind as well as to the body. If too rigid a 
seclusion from society be pernicious, too much 
company is not less prejudicial to the im¬ 
provement of the mental faculties. The 
bustle of crowds, and the giddiness of dissipa- 


I 



280 

lion, extinguish reflection, and leave to the 
mind no leisure to enter into itself, and to 
compare and arrange its ideas* By too much 
company, such at least as is commonly met 
with, a person becomes trifling and super¬ 
ficial ; and too much solitude renders him 
stupid, dull in conversation, ignorant of the 
world, unfit for society, and unacquainted 
with many things, of which the knowledge, 
however unimportant it may appear to the 
eye of contemplation, is of great utility in 
the practical concerns of society, and the 
active scenes of life. 

As no one is absolutely independent, but 

derives his importance, his security, and his 

comforts from that societv of which lie is a 

•/ 

member, how much soever any one’s dis¬ 
position may be inclined to contemplation 
and solitude, he must, unless he should, like 
the hermits of the Thebais, totally sequester 
himself from the world, sometimes mix among 
men, interest himself in their concerns, and 
take a part in their conversation. It is, 
therefore, highly important to know their 
manners, their inclinations, their motives, 
and modes of thinking and acting, and to 
observe what has a tendency to amuse or 
interest them. The neglect of this kind of 
social knowledge, is one reason why several 


TT 


200 


persons of great talents make a very poor 
figure in conversation. And, as Dr. Johnson 
sagaciously observes,* “He that can converse 
only on questions, concerning which a small 
part of mankind have knowledge sufficient to 
make them curious, must lose his days in un¬ 
social silence, and live in the crowd of life 
without a companion.” 

Man is a being evidently formed for a 
combination of thought and action, and not 
for either alone. The general system of 
things, and the circumstances of mankind, 
point out the rules which ought, in this re¬ 
spect, to regulate human conduct. Little 
could be performed by thought without 
action, or by action without thought. Hu¬ 
man society is a mixed scene of intellectual 
and corporeal activity ; and by their com¬ 
bined and successive operations, every thing 
is performed. To qualify a man for the 
mixed and variegated scenes of life, the alter¬ 
nations of solitude and company is necessary. 
In this respect, the ordering of the mind may 
be compared with the training and marshal¬ 
ling of an army. A state of warfare is one of 
the most active scenes of human life ; action, 
how r ever, is not all that is necessary in war. 


* Ramb. vol. 3. p. 179. 







291 

The military commander must understand 
the theory as well as the practice, and must 
be a man of contemplation as well as of 
action. Intervals of leisure are requisite for 
the training and equipment of an army, for 
the instruction of the soldiers in the military 
exercise, and the officers in their manoeuvres: 
it is too late to begin all this when already 
in the face of the enemy. These arrange¬ 
ments must be made, and the rudiments of 
tactical science learned during the intervals 
of hostile attack, in seasons of tranquillity 
and leisure; and practice, founded on theory, 
soon arises to perfection. In every depart¬ 
ment of life, the case is similar ; theory must 
precede practice ; but the latter is necessary 
to render the former useful and perfect. Sea¬ 
sons of retirement, and undisturbed solitude, 
are necessary for the just arrangement of 
ideas, and the acquisition of speculative 
knowledge; but company, and conversation 
with mankind, afford the opportunity for its 
exhibition, and, like theory and practice in 
particular sciences, both company and soli¬ 
tude are alternately necessary to bring gene¬ 
ral knowledge to perfection, and render it 
useful to its possessor, and to society. 


u 2 


i 


2 92 


ESSAY XXI. 

ON INDUSTRY AND GENIUS. 

It lias often been observed, that plodding' 
industry and patient perseverance are gene¬ 
rally more successful in the world than splen¬ 
did talents and elevated genius; and the 
observation has, indeed, been so repeatedly 
confirmed by indisputable and evident facts, 
as to have received the authority of almost uni¬ 
versal assent. When we consider the number 
of persons, who, with great natural abilities, 
cultivated and improved by an excellent 
education, are very unsuccessful in their 
affairs, and make very little advancement in 
life, while others, who are destitute of those 
advantages, live in splendour and amass riches, 
we are apt to be astonished at so remarkable 
a moral phenomenon; but on a more accurate 
survey of the world, and a more luminous 
view of human circumstances, our wonder 
'will cease, and we shall no longer consider 
as unnatural a case which we perceive to be 
common. 


203 


The walks of life, in which industry with¬ 
out genius may succeed, are so many, but 
those in which genius without industry can 
produce any beneficial effects, are so few, that 
the success of one, and the failure of the 
other, will not be a matter of astonishment 
to those who have accustomed themselves to 
contemplate the various scenes exhibited in 
society. In the affairs of commerce, of agri¬ 
culture, in all the common transactions of 
life, and indeed, in all practical business, 
any great degree of genius is generally un¬ 
necessary : a moderate share of penetration, 
with sound judgment, steady discretion and 
sedulous attention, are all the qualifications 
that are requisite in order to succeed. In 
the smallest as well as in the greatest con¬ 
cerns, these are necessary; but brilliant talents 
are so far from being essentially conducive 
to success in a life of business, that they are 
often real impediments. It is seldom that 
the man of genius and splendid abilities can 
take much pleasure in the tedious details of 
trade, or apply himself with assiduity to the 
accompting-house, the shop, or the farm. 
Those things, which by the rest of mankind 
are esteemed of the utmost importance, ap¬ 
pear only trifles to the sublime genius, who 
soars above the ordinary sphere of human 

u 3 


i 


c 29 4 


existence. He employs himself in devising 
new plans, and amuses his imagination with 
ideas of fancied pleasure or advantage. He 
engages in romantic enterprises, and often 
proves the difference between expectation 
and experience. Sometimes the mortifica¬ 
tion of disappointment reduces his mind to 
the standard of discretion, and brings imagi¬ 
nation under the power of reason ; but this 
is not always the case: it more frequently 
happens, that the frustration of one project 
gives rise to another, which terminates in a 
similar disappointment; and thus it is often 
his fate to rush forward from one error or 
disaster to another, and to consume his w hole 
life in forming impracticable schemes. 

The man w ho is destitute of genius and 
talents, takes a contrary course. He is placed 
by his parents or friends in some particular 
station of life, objects are placed before him 
to attract his attention, the means of attain¬ 
ing them pointed out by diligent instruction, 
and caution excited by friendly admonition. 
He continues in the plain road into which 
parental counsel or obvious example have 
directed his steps, and without ever deviating 
from the beaten track, presses forward with 
unremitted diligence. His attention is not 
attracted by novelty, his patience is not ex- 


295 


hausted by perseverance, nor his ardour 
chilled by the uniformity of the scene; and 
he has often acquired a fortune before another, 
who possesses far superior abilities, has learn¬ 
ed to see the futility of his own visionary 
projects. 

It is, indeed, a merciful dispensation of 
Divine Providence, in the adaptation of hu¬ 
man powers to human circumstances, that all 
the necessary business of life, from the highest 
to the lowest station, may be regularly con¬ 
ducted by men of good sense, discretion, and 
common abilities, without those extraor¬ 
dinary intellectual endowments, which fall 
to the lot of only a small part of mankind. 
If none but men of a sublime genius and 
extraordinary attainments could conduct 
human affairs, the world would become a 
scene of confusion, and order degenerate into 
anarchy. 

To the operations of genius and industry, 
nature has assigned different departments. 
The province of genius is to invent, improve, 
and lead the way to industry ; and the 
business of the latter is to follow her direc¬ 
tions. To the exertion of superior talents, 
we are indebted for a number of wonderful 
discoveries and useful inventions, and these 
are by the efforts of industry, converted to the 

u 4 


206 ' 


purposes of national and individual utility. 
When genius and industry are united, they 
must produce great effects, unless their com¬ 
bined efforts be counteracted by a singular 
concurrence of unfavourable circumstances ; 
but as their union is not very common, their 
general separation affords frequent oppor¬ 
tunities of observing that industry, without 
genius, is generally of greater utility, both to 
the possessor and the public, than the latter 
unaccompanied by the former, and that great 
abilities without exertion, contribute little 
to the success of individuals, or the benefit of 
society. 

Men of genius and talents are not only too 
liable to indulge romantic ideas, and to form 
visionary projects, but, elated with the con¬ 
sciousness of their superiority, they are very 
often destitute of that steady perseverance in 
the pursuit of one particular object, which is 
more frequently associated with mediocrity 
of genius, and coolness of imagination, and 
constitutes one of the distinguishing cha¬ 
racteristics of useful industry. Such men 
cannot easily habituate themselves to that 
patient perseverance which is so necessary in 
most of the affairs of life. They expect to 
carry every thing by a coup de main , they are 
soon weary of making gradual and regular 


297 


approaches, and contemn that plodding in¬ 
dustry which attains its ends by slow ad¬ 
vances. This is commonly the fate of young 
men, who are conscious of possessing superior 
abilities ; and experience often convinces 
them of their mistake, only when life is too 
far spent to leave time for reparation. Those 
whose intellectual endowments do not rise 
above mediocrity, are less liable to fail into 
this error. Possessing a genius less elevated 
and less brilliant, with an imagination less 
active and eccentric, they are not puffed up 
with the conscious pride of one, nor seduced 
by the bold flights of the other. Their pro¬ 
jects, are, therefore, less daring, their under¬ 
takings less romantic, their views less ex¬ 
tensive, and their expectations less sanguine 
than those which a sublime genius, and 
splendid abilities, with an active imagina¬ 
tion, their almost inseparable concomitant, 
have a powerful tendency to inspire. Not 
flattering themselves with the notion of 
possessing any extraordinary talents for ac¬ 
quisition, they are careful to avoid dissipa¬ 
tion, and neither squander their money in 
extravagant and useless expences, nor their 
time in idle amusements, or visionary pro¬ 
jects, while men of superior intellectual powers 
and attainments are frequently lavish of both; 


298 


and after having illuminated mankind by the 
productions of their genius, and taught them 
prudence by the wisdom of their instructions, 
often exhibit memorable instances of folly 
and misconduct in the management of their 
own affairs. Not a few persons, of the first 
rate abilities, have passed their lives in difficult 
researches and profound speculations, in form¬ 
ing visionary theories and romantic projects, 
without paying any attention to the silent 
lapse of time, until they discovered their heads 
to be covered with grey hairs, before they 
had once thought of making any provision 
for the approach of old age, and abandoned 
by all, have at last ended their lives in a 
state of helpless indigence, and friendless 
dereliction. 


200 


ESSAY 


XXI 


f 

1 . 


ON THE PASSION FOR POSTHUMOUS FAME. 


There is scarcely to be found in the 
history of the human mind, a more remark- 
able circumstance, or a more striking' proof 
of its desire of existence, and dread of anni¬ 
hilation, than that ardent desire of trans¬ 
mitting to succeeding ages some memorial of 
itself, which has generally animated the 
breasts of heroes, legislators, and conquerors, 
and other great men, especially among the 
ancients. This is a characteristic of the mind, 
which shows, in a most conspicuous manner, 
its sublime nature, its aspiring views, and 
the insufficiency of all things here below to 
satisfy its desires. It finds that nothing tem¬ 
poral can complete its happiness, and feeling 
a want of something, which the transient 
pleasures of this life cannot give, it extends 
its prospects into the regions of futurity, 
pleases itself with the view of an imaginary 
existence in the recollection of men yet un- 
born, and thus catching at a phantom, amuses 


aoo 


itself with the contemplation of an ideal 
greatness in the pages of history, and the 
applauses or admiration of future ages. 

This passion was far stronger, more con¬ 
spicuous, and more openly avowed among the 
ancients, than among the moderns. All the 
great men of antiquity were powerfully 
actuated by the desire of transmitting to 
posterity a memorial of their existence and 
exploits, by leaving behind them what they 
vainly called a deathless name. To them 
nothing could have been a greater mortifica¬ 
tion than the thought of being forgotten ; and 
the painful rellection, that their names should, 
after death, be consigned to oblivion, would 
have operated almost in the same manner as 
the prospect of total annihilation. The desire 
of immortal fame was the grand stimulus 
both of the virtues and the crimes of the most 
celebrated heroes of antiquity, the inpulsive 
spring of their patriotism, their courage, their 
fortitude, their military achievements, and 
their literary attainments. Animated by this 
hope, they spoke, and w rote; they fought, or 
fell. In the expectation of immortalizing his 
name, the conqueror subjugated empires, and 
desolated and depopulated the earth. In the 
same view , the legislator civilized the savage 
tribes, the orator displayed his eloquence, the 


301 


philosopher exhausted himself in profound re¬ 
searches, and the historian, as well as the poet, 
flattered himself with the hope of transmitting 
to posterity his own name, in conjunction 
with that of the hero whose actions he cele¬ 
brated. 

It is, indeed, very natural to desire that our 
memory should not immediately be forgotten 
among those whom we love, or with whom we 
live in social intercourse. There is not, per¬ 
haps, a human being who would not wish to 
be remembered among those intimate friends 
with whom lie has passed his life; but it 
appears somewhat extravagant to expect to 
occupy a place in the memory of those who 
have never known us, and of whom we can 
have no knowledge; and it is a vain ex¬ 
pectation to suppose that future generations 
will think much of us, or our actions. Men 
have generally other employment for their 
thoughts; and the mind of each is too much 
occupied with his own affairs, to make the 
actions of those whom they have never known, 
and whose lives have long ago been termi- 

i 

nated, the subjects of their meditation, or the 
objects of their attention. And even if this 
was not the case, new scenes occur, which 
obliterate the memory of the past; new trans¬ 
actions take place, and new actors appear on 



302 


tlie stage, that attract the attention of co« 
temporary observers. The actions and the 
actors of the present day, always appear 
more interesting than those of former times* 
Distinguished characters rise and flourish, 
are celebrated and then forgotten, and their 
achievements are obliterated by succeeding 
revolutions. 

Experience verifies this observation, and 
demonstrates that the fame of any individual, 
however celebrated, does not long fill the 
mouths or the minds of men. How few have 
heard of the names of many of those who 
flattered themselves that their exploits would 
attract the attention, and command the 
admiration of all succeeding generations, that 
their greatness and their fame would be sub¬ 
jects of contemplation to the latest posterity, 
and that their history would ever be present 
to the minds of men through the long suc¬ 
cession of ages. Those of Alexander and 
Caesar, have come to the knowledge of only 
a very small part of mankind; few r , except 
scholars, know' any thing of their achieve¬ 
ments, and even among those w r ho have heard 
of their names, and read the histories of their 
lives, they are seldom the subject of remem¬ 
brance, and still more rarely that of medita¬ 
tion or reflection. Their names, or their 


303 


actions, may casually occur to tlie memory i 
but they now excite no interest, and dance 
like phantoms in the mind. 

It is somewhat astonishing, that men of the 
greatest genius and talents have been so far 
misled, by this ignis fatuus , as not only to 
expose themselves to the greatest hardships 
and dangers in the vain pursuit, but also to 
commit, without scruple, the most flagrant 
enormities for the attainment of so illusory 
an object. Such a conduct appears incon¬ 
sistent with sound reason and philosophy, as 
well as with the principles of every religion, 
Christian or Pagan. If death be the total and 
everlasting extinction of conscious existence 
as some of the Pagans imagined, it can be of 
little importance to hold a place in the 
memory of posterity ; and the celebrity of a 
name can be of no value in conjunction with 
annihilation of being. If, on the contrary, 
man be destined to a future state of existence, 
in which an exact and appropriate distribu¬ 
tion of rewards and punishments is made, 
not according to the approbation or censure 
of men, but according to the rules of impartial 
justice, and unerring wisdom, as the wisest 
and most learned of the Pagans supposed, 
and as divine revelation authorises Christians 
to believe, the opinion of mankind, and the 


304 


fame which exists only in the breath of men, 
can be of little importance, or intrinsic 
value. If the soul be among the Angels and 
Archangels that surround the eternal throne, 
the remembrance or forgetfulness of men here 
below, will not be an object of its considera¬ 
tion ; and if, on the contrary, it be in the 
fangs of the demons, and the companion of 
wicked spirits, in that dreary abode where 
hope never comes, neither celebrity nor ob¬ 
livion, neither the applauses of fame nor the 
stigmas of infamy can either alleviate or in¬ 
crease its sufferings, nor can the recollection 
of any thing terrestrial afford it the least 
consolation. 

The affections and passions of the mind, 
however, are not always in unison with the 
opinions and conclusions of the understand¬ 
ing. The latter are artificial combinations, 
the result of reasoning, influenced by various 
circumstances of education and custom ; the 
former are grounded on sentiment, and origi¬ 
nate in the nature of the mind itself. It 
appears, therefore, that this avidity of fame, 
which so generally predominates in the 
human breast, although it be repugnant to 
the sober dictates of reason and religion, in 
connexion with the belief either of future 
existence or future annihilation, is a natural 


305 


consequence of that ardent desire of im¬ 
mortality, and that dread of non-existence so 
deeply imprinted in the soul, in conjunction 
with a sense of the insufficiency of all ter¬ 
restrial things, to supply the wants and 
wishes of an intellectual being. Reason in¬ 
forms, and experience convinces man, that 
comnlete satisfaction cannot result from 

Ji 

wealth or power, or any temporal good; and 
that in the highest elevation of human great¬ 
ness and prosperity, something is still wanting 
to render his felicity perfect and permanent. 
He has, therefore, recourse to imagination, in 
order to supply the defect, and pleases him¬ 
self with the thought of immortalizing his 
name. By the aid of fancy, he amuses himself 
with the ideal prospect of extending his ex¬ 
istence and his honours beyond the grave, 
and of living in the minds of men yet un¬ 
born. 

The more refined and philosophical Pagans 
might, perhaps, imagine, that in a future 
state of existence, they should have a know - 
ledge of terrestrial things, and consequently 
enjoy, in their Elysian fields, the applauses 
of men upon earth. This, however, appears 
to have been no more than a vague idea in 
the minds of the most enlightened among 
them. Those philosophers who were the 


x 


306 


most strongly persuaded of the existence of 
a future state, had very great doubts of its 
admission of any communication with the 
terrestrial world, or any knowledge of its 
affairs, and the supposition was only con¬ 
sidered as a pleasing possibility. Among 
those, however, who believed death to be no 
less than total annihilation, this persuasion 
could have no place: and, indeed, the notions 
which the Pagans had of a future state were 
so very obscure, and their belief of its ex¬ 
istence so undetermined and wavering, that 
they could entertain but very faint hopes of 
receiving any consolation in another life, by 
the knowledge of the applause which pos¬ 
terity might bestow on their actions, and the 
celebrity by which their names might be 
distinguished. 

It seems, therefore, that the only real en¬ 
joyment of future fame, which they seriously 
expected, was that which arises from anticipa¬ 
tion* The fascinating thought that their 
names would be celebrated and their actions 
recorded, amused the tedium of life, dispelled 
the melancholy gloom which hung over the 
prospect of non-existence, excited pleasing 
reflections, gave to beings an imaginary ex¬ 
tension and duration, and animated them 
with the flattering prospect of closing the 


307 


period of life, in the conscious assurance of 
having acquired lasting fame, and of leaving 
a perpetual memorial of themselves for the 
contemplation of posterity. 

It is certain that this extravagant thirst of 
posthumous celebrity is less general, and 
operates less powerfully in modern times than 
it did among the ancients ; and if we peruse 
the records of history, and attentively con- 
sidcr the circumstances of the world, we shall 
not be at a loss to discover the causes of this 
change in human ideas. Reason, if consulted, 
sufficiently shows that fame is no more than 
an ideal good. Religion, in this case, con¬ 
firms what reason dictates, while experience 
and observation demonstrate the shadowy 
nature of the objects of ambition. 

In the infancy of the world, experience had 
not so fully demonstrated this truth, which 
now appears evident to every one who has 
observed the incessant vicissitudes, and mul¬ 
tiplied revolutions of human affairs, the rise 
and disappearance of great and interesting 
characters, and the different events which, 
during the lapse of ages, have successively 
attracted the attention of mankind. At this 
period, the world has already afforded so 
many examples of this nature, as sufficiently 
prove that fame can only be transient, and 

X 2 


808 


not of much longer duration than the life of 
the person who happens to be the subject ot 
its momentary applause. And no one who 
is acquainted with the tumultuous bustle ot 
life, and the continual fluctuations of mun¬ 
dane affairs, can reasonably expect that his 
name, and the remembrance of his actions, 
will occupy any considerable place in the 
memory of future generations. 

In the nonage of society, when few r great 
political fabrics had been founded and sub¬ 
verted, when few comprehensive systems of 
legislature had been formed, and but little 
progress had been made in science or letters, 
the man who founded or conquered an em¬ 
pire, who united a numerous assemblage of 
citizens in one political community, who 
illuminated mankind by important disco¬ 
veries and useful instructions, or distinguish¬ 
ed himself by a proficiency in literature or 
the arts, saw himself placed in a conspicuous 
and imposing point of view. As his exploits 
or his attainments were new and singular, or 
at least, at that time uncommon, he might 
suppose that they would attract the attention 
of posterity as well as of his cotemporaries. 
As they had not been surpassed, nor, per¬ 
haps, equalled in the ages preceding, he 
would scarcely apprehend that they could 










309 


be obscured by the achievements of succeed- 
ing heroes, or the revolutions of after times ; 
but might imagine that his name and his 
performances would for ever remain con¬ 
spicuous monuments of human excellence, 
and constitute the central' point of human 
admiration. Such visionary ideas might 
dance in the mind of a Nimrod, or a Semi- 
ramis, a Nebuchadnezzar, or a Cyrus, with 
some of the primitive legislators, philosophers, 
and warriors of Greece. Ambition was then 
in the full vigour of youth, and fame was 
shared among a few distinguished persons, 
whom their abilities or their fortune had raised 
high above the ordinary level of mankind; 

and those who perceived themselves to be the 

% 

most conspicuous characters that had then 
appeared on the theatre of the world, might, 
with some appearance of reason, imagine 
that nothing could ever eclipse the splendour 
of their names, and that they had acquired 
the exclusive possession of laurels that would 
never wither, and a fame that would never 
sink into oblivion. 

As succeeding periods produced a succession 
of great characters, great actions, striking oc¬ 
currences, and singular and interesting revo¬ 
lutions, experience would in time naturally 
begin to dissipate the illusion; and succeeding 

x 3 


310 


heroes would at last perceive that the cele¬ 
brated personages of ancient days, engross 
only a very small share of the attention of an 
inconsiderable part of posterity. Of this 
Cicero has declared himself perfectly sensible, 
and argues with consummate eloquence, and 
the most florid reasoning on the limited extent 
and short duration of fame, although he him¬ 
self idolized the phantom with more fervent 
devotion, and pursued it with greater and 
more persevering ardour, and. indeed, we may 
also add with greater success than most of 
those who have wearied themselves in the 
pursuit. In proportion as the world grew 
older, and great actions and events were 
multiplied, the candidates for fame had the 
mortifying reflection, that immitation was the 
only prospect left open to them ; and that if 
they might emulate, or could expect to equal, 
they could never hope to excel those whose 
actions had already placed their names at the 
head of the list of heroes. Csesar himself 
could have no higher expectation than that 
of partaking with Alexander in the admira¬ 
tion of future ages. 

The lapse of time, the constant succession 
of conspicuous characters, the multiplied 
revolutions that have taken place in the world, 
and the progressive improvement of arts. 


sciences, and literature, have had a continual 
and united tendency to diminish the possi¬ 
bility of monopolizing the admiration of 
mankind, and extending the duration of a 
distinguished name much beyond the grave. 
In modern times especially, illustrious cha¬ 
racters in every department of science and 
literature, as well as in war and politics, have 
appeared in rapid succession: the fame of one 
has been immediately obscured by that of 
another, and few are much talked or thought 
of after their mortal career is terminated. The 
Mazarins, and the Colberts, theTurennes, the 
Luxemburg's, and other celebrated ministers 
and generals, who raised the monarchy of 
Louis XIV. to so elevated a pitch of power 
and grandeur, are now almost forgotten; 

their names are seldom in any one’s mouth or 

%) 

memory. In the commencement of the last 
century, the military talents and successes of 
Prince Eugene of Savoy, and the Duke of 
Marlborough, astonished Europe, at this time 
their fame is nearly buried in oblivion. 
Scarcely half a century ago, the great Frederick 
II. King of Prussia, attracted the public 
admiration: the eyes of all Europe were upon 
him, and his great exploits were the general 
topics of discourse: at this day he is seldom 
thought of, and his name is seldom mentioned, 

x 4 


312 


Other events now excite a general interest, 
and other characters attract the public eye. 
These, in their turn, must make their exit 
from the stage, their places will be occupied 
by new actors, their fame, like themselves, 
will vanish from the view of mankind, and at 
the expiration of the present century, their 
actions will be as little remembered, and their 
names as seldom noticed as those of the 
conspicuous characters who were acting their 
parts on the theatre of life a century ago, are 
by the present generation. 

The romantic desire of a great name, after 
our bodies are crumbled into dust, is repug¬ 
nant both to philosophy and religion, unless 
it be sanctified by the means chosen for the 
attainment of an object of so little intrinsic 
value. If fame be acquired by actions bene¬ 
ficial to mankind, its duration ought to be 
perpetual; but a great name, obtained by 
crime, by treason, and usurpation, by the 
desolation of the earth, and the destruction of 
the human species, cannot too soon be con^ 
signed to oblivion. To encounter hardships 
and dangers in the sole view of transmitting a 
name to posterity, is, in the eye of sober 
reason, a procedure extravagant and roman¬ 
tic; for 

“ One moment’s pleasure while we live, 

“ Weighs more than ages of renown.” 






313 


No one can doubt the truth of this assertion, 
unless this renown be the reward of virtuous 
actions ; but when to those hardships so fre¬ 
quently undergone, and those dangers so often 
encountered in the pursuit of a phantom, 
criminality is also joined, as too often has 
been the case, the assemblage exhibits a frenzy 
of the mind, inconsistent with reason, con¬ 
demned by religion, pregnant with mischief, 
and productive of misfortune to mankind. 

The approbation which man ought to seek, 
is not that of his fellow mortals, erring and 
partial judges, but that of his Maker, and of 
his own conscience. Disregarding the ap¬ 
plause or the censure of men, the approbation 
of the eternal Sovereign is the only glory to 
which he ought to aspire, and which will be 
a source of more lasting joy, and more sub¬ 
stantial happiness, than the plaudits of co¬ 
temporaries, or the admiration of posterity. 

* l One self-approving hour, whole crowds outweighs 

41 Of stupid starers, and their loud huzzas."’ 


314 


ESSAY XXIII. 


ON THE RIGHT ORDERING OF THE MIND* 


THAT the mind is almost always affected 
by the pains and pleasures of the body, and 
in some degree influenced by all its sensa¬ 
tions, is an experimental truth which needs 
no arguments for its explanation or proof; 
but it has also affections peculiar to itself, in 
which the body has no share, and is some¬ 
times afflicted with diseases which originate 
in itself, without proceeding from any cor¬ 
poreal indisposition. Melancholy, and every 
other kind of intellectual derangement, may 
p roceed from a bad conformation of the brain, 
a debility of the nervous system, or some un- 
definable disorder of the mind itself. In 
such cases the disease is constitutional. 
Sometimes, however, disorders of the in¬ 
tellect can scarcely be said to come under 


* A variety of case3 Which have fallen within the sphere of the 
author’s observation, and some of them among persons with whom he 
was well acquainted, suggested the idea of this and some of the 
following essays. 




315 


this description, but seem rather to be the 
effect of mismanagement in regulating the 
affections, or arranging the ideas. The first 
kind may sometimes be alleviated, but seldom 
removed by medicine ; the last may always 
be prevented, and for the most part expelled 
by philosophy. 

In contemplating the nature and effects of 
mental diseases as well as their frequency, it 
is impossible not to see the importance of 
preserving the mind as much as possible in a 
sound state. Diseases of the body are often 
difficult to remove ; but the difficulty of 
eradicating those of the mind is generally 
much greater ; and when they rise 1o a certain 
height, the most that can be hoped is a 
mitigation, as they seldom admit of a cure. 
If they be either constitutional, or proceed 
from some accidental indisposition of the 
body, little can here be said of the means of 
alleviation or remedy: such cases belong to 
the physician rather than the moralist. Rea¬ 
son and reflection may, however, suggest 
some means of prevention, if not with com¬ 
plete, yet with partial success ; and it has, in 
a variety of instances been proved, that even 
when this disorder has been inveterate and 
incurable, its force has been in a great measure 
counteracted, and its effects restrained by 


310 


philosophy, until its prevalence gradually 
diminished, and its symptoms were scarcely 
perceptible. 

When a person perceives, or has reason to 
suspect in himself any symptoms of con¬ 
stitutional melancholy, lie ought constantly 
and resolutely to combat the growing evil, 
by mixing as much as possible with the world, 
by frequenting company and taking a part 
in conversation, by keeping in view some 
pleasing or interesting pursuit, and by ex¬ 
hilarating his mind with agreeable ideas and 
solacing reflections. That illustrious literary 
character Dr. Johnson,has exhibited a memor¬ 
able instance of constitutional melancholy, 
perseveringly and successfully combated, 
during the course of a long, sedentary, and 
studious life, and of the salutary effects of a 
vigorous resolution, in opposing and over¬ 
coming the force and influence of that dread¬ 
ful disease, as few 7 men have been more 
obnoxious to its attacks, and perhaps none 
ever resisted them with greater fortitude, 
perseverance, and success. 

The external and adventitious causes from 
which disorders of the mind commonly pro¬ 
ceed, are chiefly such accidents or occurrences 
in life as disappoint its hopes, frustrate some 
favourite expectation on w hich it has dw elt 


I 


317 


with pleasure, or excite some passion to a. 
degree that admits of no control. The 
passions, however, are different in respect of 
their operations. The effects of some are 
generally progressive, and if resolutely com¬ 
bated on their first assault, might, for the 
most part, be overcome; but anger, grief, 
and fear, especially the latter, are sometimes 
so sudden in their attacks, and so instan¬ 
taneously produce their baleful effects, at 
least in weak and ill-regulated minds, as to 
render resistance impossible. All, therefore, 
that can, in such cases, be done, is to recal 
reason, as soon as possible, to her throne, 
and to range the sentiments and ideas under 
her banner before the usurper shall have 
strengthened himself and confirmed his do¬ 
minion. 

For the accomplishment of this purpose, 
however, it is requisite that some previous 
arrangement should have taken place in the 
mind, in order to obviate the effects of so 
dangerous a revolution as the usurped sove¬ 
reignty of passion over reason, which banishes 
sober reflection, excludes prudent resolution, 
and extinguishes mental energy. 1 he mind 
must have some fixed principles on which it 
may act, some central point where it may 
rally its scattered forces, and find an in- 


4 


318 

trenched post in times of distress, of anxiety, 
and perturbation. 

Solitude is, by many, considered as a source 
of melancholy. It may, indeed, have a 
natural tendency to generate and nourish 
that disease ; but its influence is, in a great 
measure, annihilated by employment, as it 
is augmented in a tenfold proportion by 
idleness. A person who is solitary ought 
not to be idle, and one who is idle ought 
never to be solitary. A well organized and 
well informed mind, possessing an ample 
stock of ideas, arranged in just combinations, 
and constituting a fund of important and 
interestingknowledge,can, during any reason¬ 
able length of time, support solitude without 
inconvenience. In the most lonely situations, 
the philosopher will not find himself more 
dull or melancholy than amidst the bustle of 
crowds, while the idle, the thoughtless, and 
the gay, the votaries of dissipation and 
pleasure, can scarcely bear the solitude of 
a single hour. Several men of consummate 
abilities, erudition, and genius, have asserted 
that they were never less solitary than when 
they were alone, engaged in their studies, 
and conversant with their books. Solitude, 
indeed, will never produce melancholy in 
those energetic minds that contain a fund of 


310 


well digested ideas, and can diversify its 
uniformity with the interesting pursuits of 
science and literature; but it ought to be 
sedulously avoided by those who, possessing 
in themselves no intellectual resources, are 
destitute of the means of tilling up its silent 
vacuity. 

Although it cannot be doubted that both 
the uniform tenor of solitude, and the varying 
scenes of social dissipation, have a very great 
influence on the state of the mind, yet their 
power is far from being uncontrolable. The 
mental equilibrium depends on the appro¬ 
priate formation, the luminous arrangement, 
and just association of the ideas ; and in a 
vigorous intellect, illuminated by philosophy, 
it may be established and maintained by its 
own energy, independent of external circum¬ 
stances. 

It frequently happens either through con¬ 
stitutional vigour of mind, or the influence 
of philosophy, that some persons undergo for 
a great length of time a series of calamities, 
apparently too great for human nature to 
bear, without suffering any detriment in their 
intellectual faculties, while the most in¬ 
significant disappointment, the least frustra¬ 
tion of design or desire lias, in others, pro- 

t 

duced the most deplorable state of mental 


320 


derangement. It has, indeed, seldom been 
observed, that the severest misfortunes, or 
the most terrific expectations have caused 
the subversion of reason in minds, con¬ 
stitutionally sound and well cultivated, while 
the most trifling incidents have produced 
that disastrous effe ct, in such as were desti¬ 
tute of natural energy, or philosophical sup¬ 
port. The intellects of the Marquis de la 
Fayette were not impaired by his sufferings 
in the prisons of Olmutz, in comfortless soli¬ 
tude, under every accumulation of hardship, 
and the almost total extinction of hope; nor 
did Louis XVI. or Maria Antoinette, manifest 
any symptoms of derangement during their 
distressful imprisonment in the temple. Al¬ 
though hurled from a throne, with the scaffold 
in expectation, the minds of those illustrious 
personages constantly maintained their equi¬ 
librium. 

These observations, which might be multi¬ 
plied and extended beyond any limits that 
can be fixed, and also corroborated by in¬ 
numerable examples, clearly indicate that the 
disparity of effects produced in different minds 
by the same external and adventitious causes, 
arises from their constitutional texture, or 
their different degrees of cultivation. On 
the approach of danger, the first emotion is 


321 


fear. This sensation always operates ac¬ 
cording to the vigour or the imbecility of the 
mind, which receives the impression. In those 
who have received fortitude from nature, or 
acquired it from philosophy, fear immediately 
gives way to the counsels of prudence, or the 
impulse of courage; and apprehension of 
danger is dispelled by projects of safety, or 
preparations for resistance : in pusillanimous 
minds, on the contrary timidity precludes the 
means of defence : the affrighted imagination 
dwells on melancholy forebodings, and sinks 
into a state of helpless despondency. The 
contrast shows the necessity of cultivating 
the mind; for its organization depends upon 
culture as much as on native energy. Philoso¬ 
phy strengthens its fortitude. Religion in¬ 
spires both fortitude and resignation. 

Human life is chequered with innumerable 
vicissitudes: hope is incessantly excited and 
disappointed: expectation is repeatedly raised 
and frustrated: danger succeeds safety, and 
is followed by deliverance; and joy and 
sorrow fluctuate in multiplied alternations., 
Future events are involved in obscurity im¬ 
penetrable to our view: they cannot, by any 
effort of human penetration, be foreseen with 
certainty; and can only be guessed by con¬ 
jecture, always liable to mistake, and often 

Y 


322 


found erroneous. Experience also shows that 
apparent misfortune may be a real benefit. 
Y\ hy then should man sutler himself to sink 
under its pressure, which may perhaps be no 
more than temporary, and productive of 
future advantages ? If adversity arise from 
causes which it has never been in his power to 
prevent, ought he not to bear it with patient 
resignation to the will of Divine Providence, 
whose unerring wisdom must finally be pro¬ 
ductive of universal good; and consider those 
afflicting dispensations as the fatherly cor¬ 
rections of a tender parent, who cannot inflict 
punishments upon any of his children, but 
with a view to their future benefit and 
happiness? If a person imagine his infelicity 
to be the consequence of some innocent mis¬ 
take in his own conduct, he may console 
himself with the reflection that man was 
never designed to be infallible, or to remove 
the veil which conceals futurity from his view; 
so long as he cannot ascribe his misfortunes 
to his own criminality, he has no reason for 
•self-reproach. lie can seldom, or perhaps never 
be certain, that any different path which he 
might have chosen in his journey through life, 
would have been strewed with a greater 
quantity of flowers, or less encumbered w ith 
thorns, or that a different plan of conduct 


323 


Would have been productive of greater happi¬ 
ness, or have diminished either the number or 
the magnitude of his misfort unes. 

The circumstances of human life being 
so extremely fluctuating, and every earthly 
tenure so exceedingly precarious ; as success, 
and disappointment, elevation, and depres¬ 
sion, are often close at the heels of each other, 
every one ought, in the moment of security, 
to arm his mind against the approach of 
danger, and in the season of prosperity to 
prepare himself to sustain the shocks of mis¬ 
fortune, and the pressure of adversity. 

The man who has accustomed himself to 
observe the fluctuating nature of this ever- 
shifting scene of human existence, w ill not be 
too much elated with prosperity, nor easily 
dejected by trifling misfortunes: his steady 
mind, firm as a rock in the midst of the tem¬ 
pestuous ocean, will brave the storms of ad¬ 
versity. Looking round, and taking a view 
of the world on every side, lie sees numbers 
besides himself who feel the pressure of 
calamity, and is convinced that to experience 
disappointment and distress is a case neither 
singular nor uncommon, and, consequently, 
ought not to cause impatience, anxiety, or 
depression of mind. One principal part of 
our error, in this respect, is looking too at- 

Y 2 



324 


tentively oil the condition of those whose 

4/ 

portion of felicity is greater than our own, 
without considering the number of those who 
would be happy to bargain with us for an 
exchange of situation. 

An impartial and enlightened view of 
human circumstances, will convince us that 
we ought neither to be too much elated nor 
depressed by our present condition, nor too 
apprehensive of the future. The favourite of 
fortune, whose prosperity to-day excites our 
envy, or attracts our admiration, may, at some 
future period, be the object of our com¬ 
miseration. How many persons in Rome 
would have thought themselves superlatively 
happy in Caesar’s situation, when arrayed in 
purple and crowned with laurel, surrounded 
with military grandeur, and attended by his 
victorious legions, he had, after so many con¬ 
quests, the glory of repeated triumphs, the 
greatest of Roman honours, and the highest 
reward of military merit; but how few would 
have exchanged their own condition for his, 
when bleeding and expiring in the Senate- 
house under the strokes of the conspirators. 
The pages of history, and even the contracted 
circle of our own observations, will afford a 
multiplicity of instances of persons w hose 
condition ltiight, at one period of their lives, 


325 


have excited envy, and at another compassion. 
And the innumerable vicissitudes of fortune, 
which chequer life with a mixture of good and 
evii, varied in endless degrees of proportion, 
will convince the enlightened observer that 
heaven has made a more equal distribution of 
happiness and misery than our ignorance and 
partial judgment is willing to allow. 

If all other considerations are insufficient 
to solace the mind under the pressure of 
affliction, religion, our last, and if we attend 
to her counsels, our never-failing refuge, comes 
to our support, and brings consolation under 
every misfortune, by teaching us to consider 
ourselves under the care and protection of a 
Being, whose wisdom as well as his power is 
infinite, whose all-seeing eye pervades both 
time and eternity, who knows what is the 
most conducive to the good of .every indi¬ 
vidual, and cannot fail of employing the most 
suitable means to promote the happiness of 
all. Man is here placed in a state of ex¬ 
istence, which uniform experience shows to 
be of short duration, and which reason per¬ 
suades and revelation teaches us to consider 
as no more than probationary. The doctrines 
of religion, as well as the arguments of sound 
philosophy demonstrate, that the Supreme 
Disposer of all has, in the mysterious complex 

y 3 


326 


and extensive plan of his universal provi¬ 
dence, allotted to every individual certain 
inconveniences to suffer, as well as certain 
duties to fulfil, that the lapse of a few years 
will reduce the whole existing generation to 
the same level; and that according as we 
have acted our part on the theatre of life, our 
condition will be determined in that state, to 
which the present is no more than prepara¬ 
tory, and where the virtuous, after having 
borne with patient fortitude their transitory 
afflictions, shall be rewarded with endless 
felicity without interruption or alloy. All 
that philosophy can discover, and all that re¬ 
ligion reveals, concur to demonstrate that a 
perfect resignation to the divine will is not 
only the most acceptable homage that man is 
capable of rendering to his Maker, but su¬ 
pereminently conducive to his own temporal 
as well as eternal happiness, by inspiring him 
with patience under the frustration of hope, 
and with equanimity and fortitude under the 
pressure of calamity. 




327 


ESSAY XXIV. 


U.V RELIGIOUS MELANCHOLY. 


Since religion is the sovereign balm which 
alone can heal every wound that temporal 
evils inflict, it appears somewhat extraordi¬ 
nary that any such thing as religious melan¬ 
choly should be found in the catalogue of 
mental diseases. It is certain, however, that 
a disorder which has received that appella¬ 
tion, does exist, and of all the diseases that 
torture the human mind, is one of the most 
pernicious in its effects, one of the most 
difficult to eradicate, and although one of 
the most absurd of mental eccentricities, yet 
one of the most w orthy of compassion, as it 
generally proceeds from a good intention, 
but mistaken notions. Religion, indeed, 
which displays the most delightful and ex¬ 
hilarating prospects, is far from being cal¬ 
culated to inspire melancholy ideas. It fills 
the mind with that peace which the world 
cannot give, nor all its multiplied evils take 
away, and is alone able not only to render 

y 4 


328 


the wealthy and prosperous completely happy, 
but also to solace unavoidable and irremedk 
able calamity, with the view of a happy ter¬ 
mination. It is only by the most unnatural 
perversion of ideas that this celestial inmate 
can be made a source of melancholy despon¬ 
dency. Religion exhibits the Supreme Being 
as a tender and compassionate parent, plan¬ 
ning the happiness of all his children ; but 
fanaticism represents him as a cruel tyrant, 
oppressing them wjtli rigorous exactions, and 
punishing with inexorable severity. Such a 
misconception of the divine essence and 
attributes can scarcely fail of driving the 
soul to despair, at the reflection of being 
under the lash of an oppressor, whose power 
is irresistable, and whose wrath is impla¬ 
cable. 

As the existence of religious melancholy 
seems to be a paradox, although some degree 
of it may not, perhaps, be a very unusual 
phenomenon, to trace it to its source, cannot 
but be a curious and interesting inquiry. 
This mental disease has, through mistake or 
prejudice, been frequently attributed to the 
influence of the principles of some particular 
sect or system. If, however, the matter be 
rightly considered, this reproach, on different 
denominations of Christians, will be found to 


329 


be destitute of any foundation in moral or 

pliil osophical reasoning. In many parts of 

the country where sectaries abound, nothing 
is more common among prejudiced persons, 

than to say that their opinions and tenets tend 
to derange the intellects of their followers. 
This imputation has, with equal impropriety, 
been fixed on opposite sects, such as the 
Calvinists and the Arminians, by persons 
who never thoroughly understood nor even 
examined their respective principles; and 
prejudice is always ready to confirm the 
decisions of ignorance. These premature 
conclusions, without previous examination, 
are perfectly consistent with that self- 
sufficient propensity to hasty decision, which 
is ever prevalent in the human mind, except 
when it is matured by experience, expanded 
by extensive views, and divested of prejudices 
early imbibed, confirmed by habit, and 
strengthened by a variety of other accidental 
causes. The mind must be completely eman¬ 
cipated from the influence of every kind of 
prepossession, before it can be competent to 
form any impartial judgment. 

It is scarcely to be doubted, that instances 
of this disease may be met with among the 
members of every church, as there are fanatics 
of every religious persuasion. It would even 


330 


be unreasonable to suppose, the contrary, 
when we consider the various constitutional 
and accidental differences of disposition, and 
intellectual improvement among the num¬ 
ber of individuals, of which each is composed, 
as well as the nature and origin of mental 
diseases. 

Besides those disorders of the mind, which 
proceed from violent passions, frustrated 
hopes, accidental misfortunes, or constitu¬ 
tional melancholy, there are others which 
proceed from none of these causes. These, it 
traced to their source, will be found to origi¬ 
nate in the predominancy of some particular 
idea or train of ideas, on which the mind 
dwells with too great ardour, and too close 
attention, until other combinations, once ad¬ 
mitted, are obscured or obliterated, and new 
ones excluded. 

This case, although neither extraordinary 
nor uncommon, can scarcely, however, be so 
general as some have imagined ; 44 disorders 
of intellect,” says Dr. Johnson, speaking in 
the person of Imlac, 44 happen much oftener 
than superficial observers will easily believe. 
Perhaps, if we speak with rigorous exactness, 
no human mind is in its right state.” This, 
however, with all possible deference to so 
high an authority, seems to be a strange 


331 


assertion, as it supposes a certain degree of 

insanity to be universal. Such an hypothesis, 

indeed, seems difficult to comprehend, or at 

least to reconcile with reason ; for to say that 

•/ 

44 no human mind is in its right state,” is the 
same thing as to say that there is no right 
state of the mind. Indeed, if any degree of 
intellectual derangement be so general, that 
none can be exempt from its influence, it 
can hardly be reckoned a disorder, but it 
must rather be considered as something con¬ 
stitutionally inherent in human nature. 
44 There is no man,” continues Dr. Johnson, 
44 whose imagination does not sometimes pre¬ 
dominate over his reason, who can regulate 
his attention wholly by his will, and whose 
ideas will come and go at command.” This 
will be readily acknowledged by every one 
who has paid attention to the operations of 
intellect, but it cannot be considered as a 
proof that no mind is in its right state. It 
only shows the nature of the human mind, 
which like all other created beings, has the 
limitation of its powers assigned by the 
author of its existence. Our corporeal exer¬ 
tions are limited as well as our intellectual 
efforts; but we are not to conclude that no 
human body is in its right state, because no 
man is able to exert all the strength or agility 


332 


which might, oil certain occasions, be desi¬ 
rable. Neither the operations of the mind, 
nor the exertions of the body, can be carried 
beyond the limits assigned in their original 
formation ; but in both cases it is easy to dis¬ 
tinguish between the limitations of nature, 
and the impediments of disease. 

Without supposing, with Dr. Johnson, 
that no human mind is in its right state, 
which is little less than considering all man¬ 
kind in some degree as maniacs, we may, 
perhaps, agree with that celebrated philoso¬ 
pher, in admitting that there are few in whom 
imagination may not sometimes predominate, 
and induce a tendency to hope or fear beyond 
the limits of probability. The prevalence 
of this natural propensity of the human 
mind, however, may be easily repressed by 
a judicious exertion of the mental powers, 
invigorated and enlightened by a proper cul¬ 
tivation. 

But the minds of far the greatest part of 
mankind are totally destitute of philosophical 
culture. Some of the most uncultivated, 
however, are endowed by nature with a lively 
and ardent imagination, a dangerous gift 
when neither controled by reason, nor regu¬ 
lated by instruction. Such minds are sus¬ 
ceptible of strong emotions and of deep im- 





383 


pressions. ft is, therefore, no wonder that 
persons of this description, who have been 
long plunged in vice, and have scarcely ever 
bestowed a thought on religion, should, when 
once brought to reflect seriously on their 
state, feel strong convictions of guilt, with 
terrific apprehensions of punishment, and 
that these emotions should, in minds unac¬ 
customed to think, sometimes produce that 
derangement of intellect which is denomi¬ 
nated religious melancholy. The sufferings 
of martyrs, the mortifications of ascetics, the 
solitary lives of anchorites, the travels of 
missionaries, the piety of saints, and the ex ¬ 
travagancies of fanatics, all concur to show 
that the things of eternity are capable of 
making exceedingly strong impressions on 
the mind, when they once become the principal 
subjects of its contemplation, and determine 
the train of its ideas. 

That ardour with which the mind is in¬ 
spired by contemplating one particular system 
of ideal representation, is what is commonly 
denominated enthusiasm. In arts and sciences, 
in every great enterprise, in every important 
project, the mind forms a particular train of 
ideas, and, however, it may, by the casual 
intrusion of others, be diverted from its grand 



334 


object, constantly recurs to the prepossessing 
combination. In this manner is generated 
that sort of enthusiasm, without which no 
arduous enterprise could be carried into exe¬ 
cution. This ardour of imagination invigo¬ 
rates, exalts, and animates the mind that is 
constitutionally sound, and fortified by philo¬ 
sophy ; but it deranges, and sometimes totally 
subverts the rational faculties of persons 
whose intellects are naturally weak and ob¬ 
scured by ignorance. 

An impartial observer of the nature of the 
human mind, would, without being either 
methodist or dissenter, exculpate these and 
all other particular sects from the charge of 
deranging the intellects of their followers, 
and rather attribute that elfect where it takes 
place, to the ignorance which is so general 
among the lower orders of the people. Un¬ 
tutored minds, when engaged in abstract 
thinking, almost always think wrong ; this 
is a natural consequence of their want of 
culture. Their sphere of observation is ex- 
cee di ngly contracted, and their minds are 
not expanded by reading. When they hear 
a sermon they generally misunderstand it, 
and if they reason on the subjects which it 
unfolds, they make wrong deductions and 


335 

inferences, and consequently draw erroneous 
conclusions.* 

How much soever the state of the mind 
may be influenced by adventitious causes, 
accurate observations, on the manner in 
which different minds are affected by similar 
circumstances, will authorise us to believe 
that any considerable degree of mental de- 
ranegement of whatever species, seldom exists 
without some constitutional tendency to that 
disease; and it is to be presumed, that those 
in whom religious contemplations excite 
melancholy, would experience similar effects 
from any other train of ideas which might 
occupy their minds, and chain down their 
attention with an equal degree of force. 
E^ ery combination of ideas which precludes 
all other impressions, is naturally productive 
of the same effect, in a greater or less degree, 
and must produce either enthusiasm or melan¬ 
choly, or some of the various kinds of mental 
eccentricity. This tyranny of the imagina¬ 
tion may, in time, be easily repressed, but if 
too long indulged it becomes uncontrol able, 
and sometimes induces a total derangement 
or imbeciility of intellect, the greatest of all 


* The author has seen some dreadful instances of this mismanage 
went. 




330 


human calamities. It is, therefore, a business 
of the utmost importance in the economy of 
the mind, to check the prevalence ot fancy, 
which exhibits fallacious views,and represents 
ideal notions as realities. A vigorous and 
philosophical understanding will always be 
able to curb this dangerous ascendency. 

But when, through a fatal mismanagement, 
the energy of the mind is so completely ex¬ 
tinguished, and reason so entirely subjugated 
by one uncontrolablc and overwhelming train 
of ideas, that the thoughts seem chained down 
with an irresistible force, the aid of philo¬ 
sophy itself comes too late. There is then 

no other remedy than to mix in the bustle of 

•/ 

life, and fill up the vacuities of time with a 
succession of occupations and amusements. 
This, indeed, must always be the resource of 
those whose minds are not fortified by philo¬ 
sophy, expanded by literature, and furnished 
with a copious stock of ideas; for such can 
find pleasure only in external objects. The 
variety of scenes will dissipate the gloom: by 
frequent intercourse with the world the 
thoughts are diversified: new images occupy 
the place of those which had filled the mind: 
their constant succession exhilarates the 
spirits and invigorates the intellectual pow ers, 
dispels the chimera: formed in the imagination. 



337 


and enables reason to resume her original 
intiuence and legitimate dominion. 

But this method of cure can seldom be 
applied with success to religious melancholy ; 
for in this state of the mind conscience revolts 
at the means to be used ; and fanaticism, 
condemning all amusements as sinful, spurns 
the remedies prescribed by the physician and 
recommended by the philosopher. Religion 
alone can radically cure the diseases which 
a mistaken estimate of its nature and tendency 
is calculated to generate. W lien an ignorant 
and illiterate wretch, immersed in the depths 
of vice and profligacy, conscious of guilt and 
apprehensive of punishment, begins, perhaps, 
for the first time, to reflect on his dangerous 
state, and hears the dreadful denunciations 
which the scripture, in strong figurative 
language, fulminates against immorality and 
impiety, his mind is filled with the most 
terrific images. He sees the bottomless gulph 
open under his feet, and his affrighted imagi¬ 
nation is occupied in contemplating the lake 
burning with fire and brimstone, and swarm¬ 
ing with devils of tremendous shapes, and 
sable hue, the avengers of sin, and tormentors 
of sinners. The reproaches of conscience 
strengthen the power of imagination; and 
nothing can dissipate these horrible ideas 

z 

\ 


338 


but the glorious prospects which genuine 
religion displays in publishing free pardon 
and future happiness, on condition of sincere 
repentance and actual reformation. 

Faith and hope are the sovereign antidotes 
against despair ; and the delightful prospects 
which religion affords are so numerous, so 
exhilarating to the mind, and so perfectly 
adapted to human circumstances, as to have 
a peculiar tendency to dissipate melancholy 
ideas. If the Deity be considered not as an 
implacable tyrant, but as the common father 
of all rational beings; if his parental goodness 
displayed with diffusive munificence, and 
endless variety in the creation ; and above all, 
his transcendent love to mankind manifested 
in the plan of redemption be made the sub¬ 
jects of serious contemplation, a view T so 
magnificent, so luminous and animating, will 
banish all terrifying apprehensions, and dis¬ 
pel the gloom that so naturally hangs over 
the mind of man, when imagination wanders 
in the unexplored recesses of a world un¬ 
known. 


330 


ESSAY XXV. 


ON THE FORMATION AND COMBINATION 

OF IDEAS, 


Few persons can be found who possess 
such invariable justness of thought, as always 
to form ideas in exact conformity with the 
objects which they are supposed to represent. 
From a defect in the original formatiou of 
ideas proceed false principles: an irregularity 
in the subsequent combinations is the source 
of erroneous conclusions : the former pro- 
duces systematic, and the latter inconsistent 
error. Antecedents and consequents may be 
judiciously linked, and the inferences, argu¬ 
ments, and conclusions, may be just according 
to the fundamental principles of reasoning ; 
and yet these principles themselves may be 
wrong, and the conclusions must consequently 
be systematically, although not inconsistently 
erroneous. The just formation of original 
ideas depends upon accuracy of observation : 
the subsequent arrangements and combina¬ 
tions are the work of the reasoning faculties, 

Z 2 


340 


and regulated, in a great measure, by analogy 
and experience. 

In respect to such objects as come under 
our immediate inspection, nothing more is 
necessary than a nice observation of their ap¬ 
pearance, and accurate information of their 
nature and use, with a careful retention of 
those various particulars. Whenever we 
Mould form and retain in the mind a just 
and proportionate image of any object of 
which magnitude is a distinguishing cha¬ 
racteristic, nothing is of greater importance 
than to regulate our ideas of its dimensions, 
if not by an actual, at least by an estimated 
admeasurement; and for this reason it is 
requisite to have a just conception of measures 
and their proportions. To form just ideas 
from description or analogy is somewhat 
more difficult, and requires a justness of con¬ 
ception, a comprehensiveness of thought, and 
a force of genius which no instruction can 
give, or any external means produce : the 
mind is left to its own operations, and must 
accustom itself to form, arrange, and rectify 
its notions by images of comparison. This 
is the work of imagination under the guidance 
of reason : the former is the acting, the latter 
the directing power. Their conjunct opera¬ 
tion is no where more conspicuously displayed 


341 


and more fully exemplified than in the study 
of the mathematical sciences, although they 
seem less than any other connected with the 
imagination, and to require in a less degree 
the exertion of its powers. In mathematical 
demonstrations and illustrations, the lines 
and projections are no more than representa¬ 
tions of things existing, or supposed to exist 
in nature; and ought to be considered as 
nothing in themselves, but used only to assist 
the learner in forming an idea of the things 
they are intended to represent, and to fix the 
attention of adepts by exhibiting the com¬ 
ponent parts of a complicated whole. In 
order to form just conceptions, it is requisite 
to transfer the ideas from the representations 
to the things they are supposed to represent; 
and without this mental process it is im¬ 
possible to have a clear comprehension of the 
subject. If the mind be not accustomed to 
extend, to compare, and to appropriate its 
ideas, it can make no great progress in the 
acquisition of knowledge; and if it be not 
endowed by nature with the energy requisite 
for this procedure, the defect is irremediable, 
and the obstacle to intellectual improvement 
insurmountable. This, however, is far less 
frequently owing to a natural defect than to 
the neglect of rightly ordering the mind and 
directing its operations. 

2 3 




342 


A person who studies surveying in the 
school ought to imagine himself in the field; 
and one who studies trigonometry is to con¬ 
sider the sines, tangents, secants, cosines, &c. 
not solely as lines upon paper, but as appli¬ 
cable to the surface of the earth, being of any 
supposeable length, and capable of indefinite 
extension in a circle bounded only by the 
limits of the universe. In the study of 
geography and astronomy, the learner, while 
he contemplates the circles on the artificial 
globes, must consider and estimate the hori¬ 
zon, ecliptic, equator, meridians, parallels, 
&c. as they are supposed to exist on the 
natural spheres, and fixed by imagination as 
guides and boundaries for measuring the 
distances and ascertaining the positions of 
places on the earth, and of the constellations 
in the heavens. A person cannot form a j ust 
idea of the cosmographyof the universe, unless 
he can imagine himself placed in a situation 
that might afford him a distinct and compre¬ 
hensive view of the whole system. His mind 
must be sufficiently energetic and capacious 
to form a just idea of the whole, to unite the 
component parts in one general representa¬ 
tion, and to delineate them in one well ar¬ 
ranged and justly discriminated intellectual 
picture. 


343 


In every case, all our ideas of things that 
are not exposed to our immediate inspection, 
and cannot be brought within the sphere of 
our observation, must be formed by com¬ 
parison and analogy ; and on the justness 
of this intellectual process depends that of 
their formation and combinations. Weight, 
measure, and number, must determine, with 
precision, our conceptions of extent, magni¬ 
tude, and quantity, and without reducing 
them to these standards, description cannot 
convey, nor the mind form any precise idea 
of material objects. Through the neglect of 
attention to this mode of comparing and de¬ 
termining ideas of magnitude and proportion, 
some may conceive the temple built by Solo¬ 
mon, at Jerusalem, to have been an immense 
structure, whereas, although its materials 
were extremely rich, and its workmanship 
very curious and costly, its dimensions, ac¬ 
cording to the common cubit, did not exceed 
those of some of our parish churches.* * 

When we form in our minds images of 
things from analogy er description, it is 


9 

* An ingenious writer, Mr. Gabb, endeavours to prove that the 
cubit, mentioned in describing the dimensions of Solomon’s temple, 
was a measure of 6 feet and not of 18inches as commonly estimated; 
according to which computation it must have been a very large 
structure.—See Gabb —Finis Pyramidis , p. 100, &c. 

z 4 




344 


necessary to consider every circumstance and 
relation of the former, and the arrangement 
and appropriation of the latter; and it 
is equally requisite, in many cases, to 
make proper allowances for the changes of 
languages, the diversities of stile, and the 
singularities of idioms in descriptive or nar¬ 
rative representation. The writers of antiquity 
are often obscure, because the languages in 
which they wrote are grown obsolete, and 
even in reading modern authors it is some¬ 
times difficult to hit exactly upon the identi¬ 
cal idea which they affix to a w ord or ex¬ 
pression. Words are the representatives of 
things, but they do not always exhibit to the 
mind exact representations. Their use and 
adaptation are sometimes loose and indefinite, 
and literary experience proves that different 
authors, even of the first eminence, have 
affixed different ideas to the same words, 
which through this disagreement of applica¬ 
tion become equivocal; but besides the terms 
usually classed under this denomination, 
many others may be used in such a manner 
as to convey an ambiguous meaning, and to 
produce in the mind distorted, imperfect, or 
fallacious images. The turn of expression in 
narrative or description, may, w ithout any 
direct falsehood, excite erroneous ideas. The 


345 


terms great,little, vast, rich, powerful, beauti¬ 
ful, magnificent, and almost all other dis¬ 
tinguishing epithets are comparative, and do 
not convey any precise or determinate idea: 
th is the mind is left to form by comparison, 
A person who possesses an hundred pounds 
would be esteemed rich in a country where 
few possess so much as fifty; but poor where 
most of the inhabitants possess more than a 
thousand. Every edifice distinguished by 
the epithets of vast or spacious, is not to be 
supposed equal to the cathedral of St. Paul, 
at London, or to that of St. Peter, at Rome. 
An ordinary parish church would appear an 
immense structure to one who had seen none 
larger than an Indian wigwam, or a thatched 
cottage. The Ouse or tlie Don might be 
called great rivers by those who had never 
seen a stream larger than a common sewer, 
but they would appear small to an eye ac¬ 
customed to view the Humber or the T hames ; 
and the same remarks might be extended to 
thousands of parallel cases. 

Our ideas of rank and distinction, of mili¬ 
tary pomp, and of regal magnificence, come 
under the same observation. They are liable 
to the same indefinite conception; and their 
justness depends on the right association of a 
number of collateral images formed from the 


346 


view of a vast assemblage of various circum¬ 
stances. We must examine and contrast the 
state of the arts in different ages as well as 
the power and opulence of different countries, 
and investigate all the particular circum¬ 
stances on which the greatness of various 
nations at different aeras was founded. A 
judicious writer* says, “ All the words apper¬ 
taining to royalty, as King, Prince, court, 
palace, &c. have so long com eyed to the 
minds of civilized people ideas of dignity and 
grandeur, that it is difficult, even for a phi¬ 
losopher, to hear them with those impressions 
only which they excited in the early stages of 
society.” We are not, however, to consider 
the power and splendour of the thirty-three 
kings of the land of Canaan, who were con¬ 
quered by the Israelites, and whose territories 
collectively taken, were not of much greater 
extent than the county of York, as bearing 
any resemblance to the grandeur of the 
monarchs of after-times, possessors of wealthy 
and extensive dominions. Notwithstanding 
the pompous descriptions of Homer rendered 
still more imposing by his translators, a 
philosophical reader will regard the armies of 


* Mr. Aikin. 




347 


the Greeks and Trojans only as bands of 
undisciplined savages in comparison of the 
Macedonian phalanx, the Roman legions, or 
the battalions of modern Europe; and con¬ 
sider the confederacy of the Greeks against 
Troy as an insignificant affair when compared 
with that of the combined powers against the 
French republic. The exaggerations of poets 
must be reduced, and the want of precision 
so common among historical and descriptive 
writers, supplied by the judgment and dis¬ 
cretion of readers. Modern views of an¬ 
tiquity must be regulated, and the ideas 
arising from them rectified by an accurate 
survey of the circumstances of different stages 
of society, and a judicious comparison of 
ancient and modern times. \\ ithout this 
contrasting of seras and circumstances, the 
inattentive mind might be hurried into gross 
misconceptions. 

The greatest part of our ideas being taken 
from description and modelled by analogy, 
those which we form of a large city, a mag¬ 
nificent edifice, a wide river, &c. can be de¬ 
termined only by a comparison with other 
objects of the same kind which we have seen; 
and it is very uncertain whether the ideas of 
him who aives and of him who receives the 

o 

description coincide on those subjects, when 


348 


expressed only by an epithet, of which the 
precise meaning is left indeterminate. This 
sometimes occasions a great deal of obscurity 
in the relations of travellers, and proves the 
necessity of applying either real or at least 
estimated admeasurement to magnitude and 
extent, without which, no description what¬ 
ever can convey any just idea ; for it is other¬ 
wise impossible that the reader should know 
whether the city or the river, which the writer 
represents as large or wide, would appear 
such to him according to the conceptions that 
he has accustomed himself to form. That this 
remark is applicable to innumerable cases of 
a similar nature, is evident to every one w ho 
has attentively observed the inaccuracy and 
want of precision, which so frequently di¬ 
minishes the value of descriptive representa¬ 
tion. A person w ho should travel into Egypt, 
ought to inform us of the form and circuit of 
the city of Cairo, if not from actual ad¬ 
measurement, at least according to the nearest 
estimate that he is able to make, otherwise, 
although he may say that it is a very large 
city, we should not, from his description, be 
able to determine whether it be a large city 
according to our conception. In the same 
manner if he ascended up the Nile as high as 
the Cataracts, he ought to mark in the 







349 


different periods of his progress, at least an 
estimated width of that celebrated river, 
without which he could convey no definite 
idea. 

It must be observed and remembered, that 
language itself is inadequate to the wide scope 
of picturesque representation. The scenery 
of nature and the operations of intellect are 
equally characterized by infinite diversity ; 
and the terms of language cannot be suffi¬ 
ciently varied or multiplied to express ail the 
various combinations of either natural or 
mental imagery. Description may delineate 
the outlines of the picture, but cannot express 
that nice versatility of touch, that endless in¬ 
termixture of light and shade, and those in¬ 
numerable combinations which diversify the 

J 

aspect both of the material and the intel¬ 
lectual world. 

These difficulties are, and ever will be 
irremediable ; for the mechanism of language 
can never be rendered sufficiently perfect, 
nor can its terms be sufficiently multiplied to 
delineate, with exactness, all the diversity of 
nature’s varied forms, or to express, with pre¬ 
cision, all the modes and combinations of in¬ 
tellectual sensation and action. Complex, 
however, are formed from simple ideas, and 
these are conveyed to the mind through the 


350 


inlet of the senses, our only means of com¬ 
munication with the external world. The 
formation of simple ideas, therefore, is at¬ 
tended with no difficulty; they are impressed 
upon the mind, which is rather passive than 
active in their admission. It is only in the 
formation of complex ideas that the intellect 
assumes its activity, and calls in the aid of 
analogy and experience to enable it to 
separate, select, arrange, compare, and com¬ 
bine the images impressed on it by simple 
objects. Those ideas which we call complex 
are no more than an artificial network, com¬ 
posed of particular representations, inter¬ 
woven together by the operation of the in¬ 
tellect, and the perfection of the texture 
consists in the justness of the combination. 

In the formation of complex, and especially 
of abstract ideas, the mind is left in a great 
measure to its own energy. In the forma¬ 
tion, or we might, perhaps, with more pro¬ 
priety say, the reception of simple ideas, it 
only receives and retains such images as are 
impressed on it by the senses; but here it com¬ 
pares, digests, and associates at pleasure, 
delineates by analogy, and paints at dis¬ 
cretion. It is, therefore, in the formation of 
abstract ideas, that the understanding is in 
the greatest danger of being imposed on by 


351 


misrepresentation, and imagination the most 
likely to gain an undue ascendency. Strictly 
speaking there are no abstract ideas; for 
whatever we w ould denote by that term is the 
representation of something of which we can 
have no definite notion, until we have re¬ 
solved it into its simple constituents, and 
traced it through all its particular relations. 
Whether w e consider the w ords justice, w is¬ 
dom, magnificence, power, or any other to 
which custom has affixed the appellation of 
abstract terms, w e can have no fixed or deter¬ 
minate idea of the things which they are 
used to denote, until we consider them in 
their various relations, as in regard to the 
complex idea represented by the word city; 
we can conceive no definite notion of the 
thing until we have resolved it into its com¬ 
ponent parts, and considered it as a collection 
of streets, houses, &c. W e then easily com¬ 
bine these various particulars, and the whole 
assemblage is exhibited in the mind in one 
general representation. When these aggre¬ 
gate ideas are once formed, and a distinct 
perception of the term used to denote them is 
once acquired, we make use of both with as 
much precision and advantage as if the con¬ 
stituent parts, as well as the whole assemblage, 
were at the moment of speaking or writing 
present to the intellect. 


352 


The formation of complex ideas, and the 
invention of terms to express them, exhibit a 
grand display of the powers of the human 
intellect, of which the operations would, 
without this mode of generalization, be in¬ 
calculably slow, as language would be in¬ 
tolerably tedious without these abreviations; 
but by this process both are expedited in a 
proportion that cannot be calculated ; and as 
it must excite the astonishment of the meta¬ 
physician, it ought to inspire us with grati¬ 
tude to the Creator of man, who has endowed 
him with an intellectual energy of so com¬ 
prehensive a nature, and so conducive to the 
acquisition and communication of know¬ 
ledge. 

If there be a possibility of being led astray 
by misconception or by imagination in the 
formation of complex, and especially of those 
which are denominated abstract ideas, the 
danger is beyond comparison greater in re¬ 
gard to their combinations and associations. 
To the errors of misconception, and the ex¬ 
travagancies of imagination, ignorant or male¬ 
volent misrepresentation, and deep rooted 
prejudice, here unite their force to obscure 
the understanding, and bias the judgment. 
From the associations of our ideas our 
opinions are formed, and if the former be in¬ 
congruous, the latter will certainly be erro- 


353 


neous. The mind ought to divest itself of 
every bias, to examine the justness of its 
associations, and the conclusions to which 
they lead ; and after all its efforts it will still 
be obnoxious to the influence of a thousand 
adventitious circumstances of education, cus¬ 
tom, and prejudice, which often imperceptibly 
and sometimes almost irresistibly control the 
freedom of its operations* These throw 
various shades upon the piclure, veil some 
objects from the view, display others in a 
glaring light, and have a decided effect in 
beautifying or disfiguring the scenery . To 
acquire justness of thought, all influencing 
circumstances ought to be attentively con¬ 
sidered, and their effects on the mind ju¬ 
diciously estimated. 

If we had the opportunity of investigating 
all the diversified scenes of human existence, 
and the various operations of the human in¬ 
tellect, we should be astonished at the in¬ 
numerable vagaries of the imagination ex¬ 
hibited in the ideas and opinions of nations 
and communities as well as of individuals ; 
for what more appropriate name can be given 
to the monstrous systems of theology, estab¬ 
lished not only among the ancients but also 
among many nations of the modern world, as 

2 a 


354 


well as to the innumerable moral absurdities, 
irrational superstitions, and ill-tounded pre¬ 
judices that tyrannize over the minds of men 
in different situations of life. These fantastic 
associations of ideas, however, are so de¬ 
cidedly influenced by various circumstances, 
as to be often involuntary and sometimes 
unavoidable. A Thibetian Tartar, instructed 
by education, enjoined by precept, accustom¬ 
ed by habit, and authorised by general ex¬ 
ample, to consider the grand Lama as the im¬ 
mortal representative of the divinity, cannot 
avoid associating, with this fixed principle, 
a number of subordinate and dependent 
ideas of doctrines and duties, the necessary 
result of an established system and current 
opinion. The Brarnin has a train of ideas, 
by which his mind is occupied and over-ruled 
as much as that of the most superstitious 
Greek ever was by the representations of his 
complex and mysterious mythology ; and 
perhaps the ox did not formerly receive more 
adoration in Egypt than is now paid to the 
sacred ape in Pegu. Established systems 
and general customs generate those ideal 
associations which constitute a distinguishing 
characteristic in the public mind, and, when 
erroneous and absurd, overwhelm the reason 
of nations as well as of individuals. 


355 



1 hose current opinions which predominate 
in the minds of numerous societies, owe their 
original formation, as well as their duration 
and extention, to adventitious circumstances; 
and when extravagantly formed, they become 
general vehicles of error* Their influence 
gives a sanction to the greatest absurdities, 
and by their prevalence, error is transmitted 
to successive generations, and frequently 
dignified with the title of religious doctrines, 
rules of moral rectitude, or modes of merito¬ 
rious mortification. It is impossible to con¬ 
template the absurd fanaticism of the Santons 
and other Mahometan devotees, and more 
especially the self-inflicted tortures of the 
Fakirs of India, without lamenting the pre¬ 
dominancy of imagination over reason, and 
the effects which superstition produces in 
the human mind. Instead of a judicious and 
well-directed attention to what is required of 
intelligent and social beings, man imposes on 
himself useless restraints, unavailing mortifi¬ 
cations, and imaginary duties. 

In the enlightened countries of civilized 
Europe, we are no longer in danger of falling 
into the errors, or adopting the absurdities 
which Asia and other parts of the globe, 
where the human mind is still less cultivated, 
exhibit ; but yet there is sufficient room for 

2 a2 


356 


the formation of false associations of ideas, 
and the adoption of erroneous opinions. Of 
this, the immense mass of popular super¬ 
stitions and vulgar prejudices afford a con¬ 
vincing proof to every one who has made 
them the subject of his observation. These 
arise from preposterous combinations of ideas, 
of w hich imperfect or erroneous information 
may undoubtedly be considered as one of the 
principal causes, and which is irremediable 
unless the sphere of popular know ledge could 
be more extended. Error and prejudice, 
however, are too often observable in minds 
that are not destitute of a competent stock 
of information, and consequently can be at¬ 
tributed only to a w ant of that exertion of 
the intellectual powers, which might enable 
them to examine their early associations, to 
correct them when discovered to be erro¬ 
neous, and to shake off every bias and the 
influence of preconceived opinion whenever 
it is not grounded on the basis of physical, 
moral, or religious truth. The right order¬ 
ing of the mind, by the regulation of its 
affections, and the appropriate formation and 
just association of its ideas, is one of the most 
important concerns in the economy of human 
life. 


357 


ESSAY XXVI. 

ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A WELL CULTI¬ 
VATED MIND. 


IT is not without reason that those who have 
tasted the pleasures afforded by philosophy 
and literature, have lavished upon them the 
greatest eulogiums. The benefits which they 
produce are too many to enumerate, valuable 
beyond estimation, and various as the scenes 
of human life. The man who has a know¬ 
ledge of the works of God in the creation of 
the universe, and in his providential govern¬ 
ment of the immense system of the material 
and intellectual world, can never be without 
a copious fund of the most agreeable amuse¬ 
ment. He can never be solitary ; for in the 
most lonely solitude he is not destitute of 
company and conversation: his own ideas are 
his companions, and he can always converse 
with his own mind. 

How much soever a person may be engaged 
in pleasures, or encumbered with business, he 
will certainly have some moments to spare 

2a3 


-358 


for thought and reflection. No one who has 
observed how heavy the vacuities of time 
hang upon minds, unfurnished with images, 
and unaccustomed to think, will be at a loss 
to make a just estimate of the advantages of 
possessing a copious stock of ideas, of which 
the combinations may take a multiplicity of 
forms, and be varied to infinity. Those who 
have heard the frequent complaints of ennui , 
among such as have no source of amusement 
in themselves, must feel some degree of com¬ 
miseration for persons whose minds, being 
destitute of culture, must either act mecha¬ 
nically from the immediate impulse of ex¬ 
ternal objects, or sink into a lethargic state 
of torpid inaction. 

Mental occupations are a pleasing relief 
from bodily exertions, and from that per¬ 
petual hurry and wearisome attention, which 
in most of the employments of life, must be 
given to objects that are no otherwise in¬ 
teresting than as they are necessary. The 
mind, in an hour of leisure, obtaining a short 
vacation from the perplexing cares of the 
world, finds, in its own contemplations, a 
source of amusement, of solace, and pleasure. 
r l he tiresome attention that must be given to 
an infinite number of things, w hich singly 
and separately taken, are of little moment; 


359 


but collectively considered form an important 
aggregate, requires to be sometimes relaxed 
and dissipated by thoughts and reflections of 
a more general and extensive nature, or at 
least, of a different kind; and directed to 
objects of which the examination may open a 
more spacious field of exercise to the mind, 
give scope to its exertions, expand its ideas, 
present new combinations, and exhibit, to 
the intellectual eye, images new, various, 
sublime, or beautiful. 

The time of action will not always con¬ 
tinue; the young ought ever to have this 
consideration present to their mind, that they 
must grow old, unless prematurely cut off by 
sickness or accident. They ought to con¬ 
template the certain approach of age and 
decrepitude, and consider that all temporal 
happiness is of uncertain acquisition, mixed 
with a variety of alloy, and, in whatever 
degree attained, only of a short and precarious 
duration. Every day brings some disap¬ 
pointment, some diminution of pleasure, or 
some frustration of hope; and every moment 
brings us nearer to that period when the 
present scenes shall recede from the view, and 
future prospects cannot be formed. 

This consideration displays, in a very in¬ 
teresting point of view, the beneficial effects 

2 A 4 


360 


of furnishing the mind with a stock of ideas 
that may amuse it in leisure, accompany it 
in solitude, dispel the gloom of melancholy, 
lighten the pressure of misfortune, dissipate 
the vexations arising from baffled projects or 
disappointed hopes, and relieve the tedium 
of that season of life when new acquisitions 
can no more be made, and the world can no 
longer flatter and delude us w ith its illusory 
hopes and promises. 

When life begins, like a distant landscape, 
gradually to disappear, the mind can then 
receive no solace but from its ow n ideas and 
reflections. Philosophy and literature will 
then furnish it with an inexhaustible source 
of the most agreeable amusements, as religion 
will afford it substantial consolation. A 
w ell spent youth is the only sure foundation 
of a happy old age : no axiom of the mathe¬ 
matics is more true or more easily demon¬ 
strated. 

Old age, like death, comes unexpectedly 
on the unthinking and unprepared, although 
its approach be visible, and its arrival certain. 
Those who have, in the earlier part of life, 
neglected to furnish their minds with ideas, 
to fortify them by contemplation, and regu¬ 
late them by reflection, seeing the season of 
youth and vigour irrecoverably past, its 


361 


pleasing scenes annihilated, and its brilliant 
prospects left far behind, without the possi¬ 
bility of return, and feeling, at the same time, 
the irresistible encroachments of age, with its 
disagreeable appendages, are surprised and 
disconcerted by a change, which although 
they knew to be certain, they had scarcely 
expected, or for which at least they had made 
no preparation. A person, in this predica¬ 
ment, finding himself no longer capable of 
taking, as formerly, a part in the busy walks 
of life, of enjoying its active pleasures, and 
sharing its arduous enterprises, becomes 
peevish and uneasy, troublesome to others, 
and burdensome to himself. Destitute of 
the resources of philosophy, and a stranger 
to* the amusing pursuits of literature, he is 
unacquainted with any agreeable method of 
filling up the vacuity left in his mind by his 
necessary recess from the active scenes of life. 
Ignorance renders him obstinate ; things that 
once pleased him please him no longer, and 
experiencing this revolution in liisown notions 
and inclinations, he thinks it ought also to 
take place in those of others. I he pleasures 
and amusements of youth, however innocent, 
he stigmatizes with the name of folly and 
vanity, merely because they are no longer 
accommodated to his period of life; censures 


362 


the conduct of the rest of the world, and, be¬ 
cause his own head is covered with grey hairs, 

thinks every one else should be old through 
•/ 

complaisance. Finding the world neither 
able nor willing to consult his pleasure, or 
comply with his whims, he turns fretful and 
peevish, and wanting materials for the ex¬ 
ercise of his mind, perplexes himself with 
useless cares, teazes himself for trifles, and 
instead of looking back on the illusory scenes 
of life with magnanimous indifference, and 
waiting for the conclusion with equanimity 
and fortitude, too often consumes his latter 
years in whimsical peevishness and stupid 
vacuity of thought. 

All this is the consequence of squandering 
away the days of youth and vigour, without 
acquiring the habit of thinking. Excepting 
the case of the very lowest classes of society, 
to whom indigence has precluded the means 
of education, and continued labour has al¬ 
lowed no leisure for reflection, the period of 
human life, short as it is, is of sufficient 
length for the acquisition of a considerable 
stock of useful and agreeable knowledge, and 
the circumstances of the world afford a super¬ 
abundance of subjects for contemplation and 
inquiry. T he various phamomena of the 
moral as well as the physical world, the in- 


363 


vestigations of science, and the information 
communicated by literature, are calculated to 
attract attention, exercise thought, excite 
reflection, and replenish the mind with an 
infinite variety of ideas. 

The evening of life is a melancholy season 
when the whole day has been spent without 
any preparation for its arrival. The man 
who, in youth, has been favoured by fortune, 
with affluence, or at least with competency, 
or has enjoyed fair opportunities of acquisi¬ 
tion, and having squandered the former or 
neglected the latter, feels the pressure of age 
and infirmity without any other resource than 
the precarious assistance of friends, the pe¬ 
nurious support of parochial allowance, or 
the humiliation of mendicity, is in a situa¬ 
tion truly deplorable, and with anguish of 
heart has reason to reproach himself as the 
author of his own misfortunes. The con¬ 
dition, however, of that man, is scarely less 
miserable, and certainly not less blameable, 
who having possessed abilities and leisure, 
has made no provision of knowledge for that 
season when the mind, no less than the body, 
requires to be well supported ; when the 
gaiety of youth and the vigour of manhood 
are no more; when the festive song and dance 
have lost their power of pleasing; and when 


364 


the glittering show, the delusive hopes, and 
flattering prospects of the world, no longer 
fascinate the imagination. 

The man of letters, when compared with 
one that is illiterate, exhibits nearly the same 
contrast as that which exists between a blind 
man and one that can see ; and if we consider 
how much literature enlarges the mind, and 
how much it multiplies, adjusts, rectifies, and 
arranges the ideas, it may well be reckoned 
equivalent to an additional sense. It affords 
pleasures which wealth cannot procure, and 
which poverty cannot entirely take away. A 
well cultivated mind places its possessor 
beyond the reach of those trifling vexations 
and disquietudes which continually harrass 
and perplex those who have no resources 
within themselves, and, in some measure, 
elevates him above the smiles and the frowns 
of fortune. 




365 


ESSAY XXVII. 

ON EXERCISE. 


Exercise is very agreeable to many, and 
beneficial to all; and although all persons 
have not the same inclinations, utility ought 
to be consulted as well as pleasure. Young 
people are generally the most inclined to 
activity, and have the greatest taste for 
travelling ; those who are somewhat advanced 
in years generally find repose and home the 
most agreeable, in the decline of life we 
commonly find the active disposition of youth 
.somewhat abated, and the indulgence of an 
inclination for inactivity induces a taste for 
torpid indolence. Those who would pro¬ 
long the years of active life, and put off the 
debility and decrepitude of age to the latest 
period possible, should, as much as their 
years permit, adhere scrupulously to habits 
of exercise. This the poor are obliged to do: 
the necessity of labour compels them to dis¬ 
regard the first attacks of age and infirmity, 
and even to continue their exertions too long, 
and to a degree which although it would, at 


an earlier period, have been moderation* 
is excess in declining years. This conduct 
it would be in vain to censure ; for imperious 
necessity rejects all reasoning, and sets aside 
every mode of logical argumentation. Those 
whose circumstances are so favourable as to 
exempt them from any compulsive and la¬ 
borious exertions, should be careful to temper 
ease and retirement with company and action, 
and study with amusement, and to mix the 
operations of the mental and corporeal facul¬ 
ties in such a manner, that neither the body 
nor the mind may become languid and in¬ 
active. 

Many persons withdraw themselves too 
soon from the world, and by bidding adieu to 
its pleasures and amusements, as well as to its 
more important concerns, become cyphers in 
society, and find life a burden. This is most 
frequently the case of those who having for¬ 
merly been entirely occupied in business or 
plunged in dissipation, have neglected the 
culture of their intellectual faculties. Such 
persons are not qualified for retirement and 
inactivity. Time hangs heavy on their hands, 
and, as their minds, unfurnished with ideas, 
are not adapted to contemplative employ¬ 
ments, exercise alone can relieve the languor 
of its slow progression. 


367 


Some young persons, of a studious and 
contemplative turn of mind, seclude them¬ 
selves from society, renounce the habits of 
bodily action, and immured in their closets, 
become strangers to the world. Nothing can 
be more preposterous than this mode of 
acting, considered in a moral light; and in 
its physical consequences nothing can be 
more pernicious : In the very bloom of youth 
it introduces the debility of mind, and the 
decrepitude of body, incident to declining 
years; and such persons, soon feeling the 
effect of premature old age, sink into an un¬ 
timely grave.* 

A sound mind, in a sound body, is the 
principal happiness of life; but it can be 
procured and preserved only by temperance 
and exercise. 1 lie more a person applies 
himself to a studious and sedentary life, the 
more eagerly he ought to seize every oppor¬ 
tunity of bodily action, in order to obviate, 
by agreeable relaxation and exhilarating 
amusements, the pernicious effects of intense 
application. Exercise, in varying the action 
of the muscles, and giving new impulses and 
movements to the whole corporeal machine, 


* The author has seen this verified in two qr three instances which 
have fallen under his own observation, 




36'8 


rfiiies also the ideas and reflections, and dis¬ 
pels the gloom which intense study has so 
great a tendency to produce ; the posture of 
the mind ought to he varied as well as that 
of the body, and the alternate action and 
repose of each are necessary to the preserva¬ 
tion of their health and vigour. 

The mechanism of the body, and the active 
nature of the mind, afford plain indications 
that exercise is congenial, and indolence 
hostile to both. The multitudinous mass of 
muscles, fibres, and ligaments, which connect 
the corporeal frame, indicate the necessity of 
frequent motion to keep them in play ; and 
the incalculable variety of intellectual opera¬ 
tion demonstrates the natural tendency of 
the mind to action, unless rendered indolent 
by habit. A long continued state of in¬ 
activity equally contributes to debilitate the 
body and depress the spirits, which clearly 
shows that exercise, both of body and mind, 
is necessary, in order to preserve in their right 
state the corporeal faculties and intellectual 
powers of man. 

\\ hat theory inculcates, in this respect, 
experience always confirms ; and every one 
who has been much confined to a sedentary 
occupation, must have observed how much 
he finds himself refreshed, and his spirits 


369 


exhilarated by moderate exercise and change 
of ideas. Instances of the pernicious neglect 
of this important arrangement of life, this 
salutary intermixture of thought and action 
too frequently occur to escape observation. 
Its consequences ought, therefore, to operate 
as an useful admonition to all whose situa¬ 
tion does not impose on them the necessity of 
laborious exertion, and induce the contem¬ 
plative and studious, in particular, to pro¬ 
portion the measure of bodily to that of 
mental activity. Exercise is an easy, cheap, 
and efficacious remedy for many disorders, 
and a certain preventative against a still 
greater number. It is a more effectual pre¬ 
servative of health than all the compounds of 
the dispensatory ; and, in conjunction with 
temperance, constitutes the basis of corporeal 
and intellectual longevity. 

Of all the active amusements which life 
affords for the relaxation of mental labour, 
none are so obvious, so ready at hand, so 
tranquil, and so cheaply enjoyed, as those of 
walking or riding. In making short ex¬ 
cursions at leisure, the eye is regaled by a 
multiplicity of objects, and communicates 
to the mind the pleasure which it receives. 
Contemplation may be continued, suspended, 
or moditied at pleasure, and bodily exercise 

2e 


870 


increased or diminished to any degree. 
Thought may be totally laid aside, and 
action increased ; or the former may be re¬ 
sumed, and the latter moderated or suspend¬ 
ed, according to inclination and natural im¬ 
pulse, without uneasiness or restraint. This 
alternation of corporeal and mental activity, 
invigorates the whole frame : it constitutes a 
inode of recreation, rendered still more ani¬ 
mating and amusing by the ^iew of fresh 
objects presenting themselves in constant 
succession, by which the intellectual powers 
are refreshed and fitted for exertion; exhausted 
thought receives new vigour and resumes its 
activity; the energy of the mind is renovated, 
its ideas appear more distinct, and their com¬ 
binations more luminous. 

A celebrated writer has observed, that few 
people know how to take a walk, and the 
assertion, strange as it may appear, will, upon 
examination, be found strictly true. A per¬ 
son should disengage, as much as possible, his 
thoughts from the images on which they have 
been long fixed, and suffer his mind to receive 
freely the impressions made by the variety 
of objects, and the changeable succession of 
diversified scenery. Ideas, fascinating ¥ 
their novelty, and amusing by their diversity, 
will strike-the mind, exhilarate the spirits, 



371 


and dispel the gloom arising from long con¬ 
tinued study, deep thought, and the constant 
recurrence of the same objects and incidents 
in the privacy of retirement, and the uni¬ 
formity of domestic life. 

The frequent repetition or long interrup¬ 
tion of these short excursions ought not to 
be absolutely dependent on the external 
circumstances of the weather and the seasons. 
The danger arising from exposure to wet and 
cold is very small, when a person is em¬ 
ployed in voluntary exercise, which does not 
prevent him from returning home when he 
pleases, nor from continuing in warmth by 
rapid motion until he can reach his own fire¬ 
side, and put on dry clothes; to a person who 
is young and vigorous, and carefully attends 
to these circumstances, nothing is to be appre¬ 
hended from being abroad an hour or two in, 
the rain or the snow. A pleasant season is. 
the most agreeable, and fair weather the most 
favourable to these exercises; but this con¬ 
sideration is not a sufficient reason that man 
should be entirely dependent on the state of 
the atmosphere, and regulate all his actions 
by the barometer. The changes of weather 
and variations of the seasons give a pleasing 
Variety to the face of nature; they diversify 
the rural scenery, and give to its landscapes 


372 


a new appearance without changing the con¬ 
stituent objects. In stormy or gloomy w eather, 
the face of the country presents an aspect 
very different from that which it exhibits 
when it is illuminated with a clear sunshine; 
and when the snows of winter cover the 
ground, and the icicles hang pendant from 
every tree, a new world seems to make its 
appearance. Thus, by the alternation of 
seasons, w e experience the variety of different 
climates, and contemplate the display of 
nature under various forms; and must we 
then consult the thermometer in order to 
ascertain the exact degree of heat or cold 
before we venture abroad, or punctiliously 
examine the clearness or force with which 
the sun shines, or the wind blows, before we 
venture to expose ourselves to the rays of the 
one, or the blasts of the other? The works of 
the Great Creator may, by a mind w ell orga¬ 
nized, be contemplated with pleasure in 
every season, and in every climate. His 
pow er and his wisdom are displayed in all 
the various phenomena of nature; and seas 
and land, air and skies, in all their different 
appearances, show his unceasing operation. 
The gloomy skies and whistling storms of 
winter, the genial zephyrs and reviving face 
of spring, the ripening vigour of the solar 


373 


rays in summer, and the thickening mists or 
chilling winds of autumn, alike afford an 
opporunity of contemplating the magnifi¬ 
cence of the universe, and the greatness of its 
author: every season provides for the con¬ 
templative mind, an intellectual feast pro¬ 
cured without expence, and enjoyed without 
satiety. 

No human means can give to the mind 
powers of comprehension, or to life a duration 
beyond the limits prescribed by the Author 
of Nature; but it is certain that, by tem¬ 
perance and exercise, a judicious intermixture 
of labour and rest, of bodily and mental 
activity, both the body and the mind may be 
invigorated, and, if life considered simply, as 
the period of mortal existence cannot be pro¬ 
longed, the time of thought and action, its 
only valuable part, may be considerably ex¬ 
tended. 


« 


2 b 3 




374 



ESSAY XXVIII. 


ON A CITY AND A COUNTRY LIFE. 


, In writing the following Essay, I perceived that a spirit of romance 
pervaded all the works of the pastoral Poets, and also those of 
the Philosophers who had treated of a country life, or, in other 
words, that they had painted it in the most pleasing colours. I 
therefore supposed that there was still a place left for a writer, 
w ho, regardless of censure, should describe that state of society as 
. it really exists, and not as it is depicted by fancy. But I was 
ignorant that a cotemporary Author, of distinguished merit, had 

; - ' . i ■ t * ** * * 

seen things exactly in the same point of view, and drawn his 
pictures w ith the same colouring. In a w ord, I had not then seen 
or heard of the poetical works of the Rev. and ingenious G. 
Crabbe. As they have since fallen into my hands, I have, in this 
Edition, quoted several of his verses, and must confess that it 
affords me no small satisfaction to see their coincidence with my 
ow n observations. 

r ' ' ;‘r" , ' * ; .* 

i - • 

Attempts have been frequently made to 
estimate the respective advantages and disad¬ 
vantages of a city and a country life, and a 
multiplicity of arguments adduced in order 
to ascertain their comparative eligibility, and 
decide which of those two situations merits to 
be preferred in a judicious and unrestrained 
choice. This preference, however, can never 
be decided with accuracy, nor could any de- 


375 

Vision, which might be made, meet with 
general approbation ; as it depends rather on 
the caprice of individuals than on the in¬ 
trinsic adv antages and peculiar circumstances 
of either condition. Different persons have 
very different opinions on this subject: Some 
prefer the city, others the country. In many 
-this preference arises from inclination or from 
habit; in others, it proceeds from considera¬ 
tions of interest or conveniency, from the 
suitableness of either situation to their em¬ 
ployments and their prospects. From what¬ 
ever motives the choice is made, it is reason¬ 
able to suppose that each individual considers 
them as sufficiently powerful to fix his deter¬ 
mination. Indeed, the greatest part of man¬ 
kind are placed in their respective situations 
by the operation of external circumstances, 
rather than by a voluntary choice. Some, 
however, are so fortunately circumstanced as 
not to be under the denomination of those 
motives of necessity, conveniency and interest, 
which have an imperious sway over the ma¬ 
jority of mankind; and independent in their 
situation can be influenced only by their 
natural inclinations or acquired habits. Those 
are, therefore, the only persons who can make 
an impartial choice, and form a just estimate 
of the respective advantages and disadvau- 

2 B 4 


tages which different situations offer to the 
enjoyment of domestic comforts and social 
life. 

Neither the city nor the country, however, 
are w holly peopled by these favourites of for¬ 
tune; on the contrary, both are the receptacles 
of persons of every description and of every 
rank. This is a necessary circumstance in 
the moral system, and an essential part of the 
mechanism of society. If cities were inhabited 
by none but men of rank and opulence, the 
laborious employments necessary to produce 
those conveniences, which make riches de¬ 
sirable, could not be performed ; and if the 
country were occupied by none but the poor, 
industry could not be encourged, nor agri¬ 
culture be improved; nations could not 
flourish, nor cities receive their supplies. 

There are, notwithstanding, both in a city 
and a country life, advantages and disad¬ 
vantages, conveniences and inconveniences, 
necessarily and peculiarly attached to each 
situation, and independent on caprice or 
partial fancy. These are in both too numerous 
to particularize; some of them, however, are 
obvious to the slightest inspection, and must 
strike the attention of the most superficial 
observer. Among the advantages of living in 
a large city, may be reckoned the opportunity 


377 


of procuring all the necessaries, the con¬ 
veniences, and luxuries of life. Of the con¬ 
veniences which a town residence affords, 
none are more valuble than that of immedi¬ 
ately procuring the best medical assistance 
in case of sickness or accident, in a much 
shorter time as well as at a less expence than 
in the country, especially in places remote 
from any considerable market town. In 
such situations, diseases and accidents, which 
might easily be remedied in a large city, 
where the best medical and chirurgical 
assistance may immediately be had, often 
prove fatal from the unavoidable delays 
occasioned by their distance from the faculty. 
Cities, likewise, afford a multiplicity of 
amusements, among which, those of the 
theatre may be considered as holding the 
principal rank. The opportunity of pro¬ 
curing education for children, which every 
great city affords, and which is often very 
difficult to find in country villages, and even 
in some market towns, is also no inconsider¬ 
able conveniency. Cities have, indeed, a very 
great advantage over the country, in the 
means of facilitating literary attainments. 
The libraries which are there to be met with, 
exhibit an immense mass of literary informa¬ 
tion, and afford to the city student a very 


'878 


great advantage which is not to be had in 
country situations. The periodical reviews, 
&c. transmit to the remotest corners of the 
kingdom an account of the literary per¬ 
formances publish d in the capital; and in 
this age of general communication, books 
may, in most places, be readily procured by 
purchase; but this causes an expence which 
affluence alone can support; and the greatest 
part of the circulating libraries in the country 
are coilections of such works as are calcu¬ 
lated rather to amuse than instruct. They 
may answer the purpose of those who, having 
no other intention than to employ agreeably 
a leisure hour, read not so much to assist and 
regulate thought as to avoid thinking, but 
cannot, in general, be of any great benefit to 
those who read with a view to the improve¬ 
ment of the mind by the acquisition of 
important knowledge. 

The greatest advantage, and the most 
agreeable circumstance of a city life is, the 
state of social intercourse, which is there far 
more refined, more pleasing, and more varied 
than in the country. The pleasures of so¬ 
ciety are the most agreeable, as well as the 
most rational, that a man of a social turn 
meets with in his passage through life. In 
large and crowded cities, the diversity of 


379 


character, of occupations, inclinations, and 
pursuits, found among so numerous an as¬ 
semblage of people, affords to an individual 
an opportunity of cliusing his connexions, 
and of associating with persons whose dis¬ 
positions, ideas, views, and pursuits, are 
similar to his own. This is an advantage 
which cannot be met with, except in places 
where a numerous population is collected, 
and a variety of characters concentrated, and 
which may be justly esteemed a counter¬ 
poise to the “ Fumum , et opes , strepitumque 
Romee and to all the inconveniences of 
living in a populous city amidst the bustle of 
a crowd. 

A country life, however, is that on which 
poets and philosophers- have lavished their 
eulogiums. The former have exhausted the 
resources of invention, and the latter those of 
reasoning, in describing rural pleasures and 
rural innocence. All the flow ers of rhetoric, 
and the charms of poetical imagery have been 
employed in painting the felicity of a country 


* “ The smoke, the opulence, and noise 5f Rome Terms which 
are in a greater or less degree applicable to all large cities as well as 
to that capital of the world. From the coldness of the climate and 
the nature of the fewel used in this country, it may be presumed, that 
• if the British metropolis be neither more opulent nor more noisy, its 
atmosphere at least is more loaded with smoke than that of ancient 
'.Rome in the'time of its greatest extent and population. 




880 


life, and all the scenery of imagination 
brought forward to embellish the picture. 
All this is excusable in the poet: fiction is his 
trade, and poetical licence his prerogative. 
He addresses himself to the passions and 
affections, not to the reasoning faculties. 
Imagination is his guide, not reality and 
experience; and creation rather than accurate 
description his employment. The province 
of the moral philosopher is to exhibit man in 
his natural or his social state, and to describe 
human circumstances according to actual ob¬ 
servations and uncontrovertible experience. 
Sometimes, however, he rejects the instructions 
of those unerring teachers, and launches into 
descriptions scarcely less romantic than those 
of the poet, whose business is not confined 
to real, but extends to fancied scenes, and 
whose proper end and ostensible aim is to 
influence the imagination rather than to 
illuminate the understanding. 

These misrepresentations and mistakes, 
into which imagination has often hurried 
reason, and induced moralists to invade the 
province of the poet, by describing an ideal 
instead of a real world, can scarcely be sup¬ 
posed to originate from the same source, or 
tend to the same purpose as the alluring 
pictures of pastoral poesy. The aim of the 


381 


poet is to amuse the reader with the view of 
an ideal state of life, which, although it 

o 

never did, nor never will exist, may be readily 
conceived. The mind dwells with rapture 
on the fascinating picture, and in the con¬ 
templation of the peaceful scenes which it 
presents to the imagination, seems, for a while, 
to retire from the tumult and turbulence of 
the world, and finds an ideal repose from the 
bustle of life. It seems to have discovered a 
state of society where all the blessings of life 
are concentrated, and from which all its 
evils are excluded, and is charmed with the 
pleasing illusion. This is the pleasure derived 
from pastoral poetry, and the end for which 
it was originally designed. But when philoso¬ 
phers refer to fictitious instead of actually 
existing scenes, the mistake can scarcely be 
supposed to originate from any other cause 
than a profound ignorance of the condition 
which they undertake to describe. Deficient 
in the essential part of moral philosophy, 
the knowledge of mankind, founded not on 
speculation but on experience, they borrow 
from the pastoral poets their pictures of 
human felicity. They know what men should 
be, but not what they really are. They 
know' what condition of human life would 


382 


be desirable, but have not sufficiently ob¬ 
served that which actually exists. 

I grant, indeed, that fields and flocks have charms. 

For him that gazes, or for him that farms ; 

But when amid such pleasing scenes I trace 
The poor laborious natives of the place ; 

And see the mid-day sun with fervid ray, 

On their bare heads and dewy temples play ; 

While some with feebler hands and fainter hearts, 

Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their parts. 

Then shall I dare these real ills to hide. 

In tinsel trappings of poetic pride ? 

If a youthful citizen should give implicit 
credit to the descriptions of pastoral poets, 
and form his ideas in unison with their 
fictitious scenery, when'he sees all the powers 
of imagination exhausted in painting the in¬ 
nocent pleasures and happy lives of the rural 
nymphs and swains, he would be tempted to 
think himself misplaced and providence un¬ 
kind. lie might, indeed, suppose himself 
unfortunate, and lament his exclusion from 

4 \ • 4. . ■ . - . - < - X 

those fancied scenes of delight, where life 
glide smoothly along amidst innocent plea¬ 
sures and uninterrupted felicity. Attaching 
his mind to a system of ideal representation, 
he could hardly do less than wish for some 
favourable incident which might break off 
his fetters, release him from his prison, afford 
him the opportunity of exchanging the bustle 


383 


of tlie city for the calm retirement of the 

4 

country, that paradise of terrestrial happiness, 
which fancy has pictured in such glowing 
colours ; and place him among those nymphs 
and swains whose amiable innocence is re¬ 
warded by the felicity of their condition. 
Fortunately, however, those reveries of the 
imagination, although often substituted in 
the place of moral truths, are seldom believed, 
and soon exploded by experience. 

What sort of beings, in fact, are those rural 
nymphs and swains, w hose virtue and felicity, 
the fancy of pastoral poets, paints in colours 
of such imposing brilliancy ? Milk-maids 
and peasants, ignorant of almost every thing, 
equally destitute of the desire and the means 
of acquiring knowledge. They rise early in 
the morning, not to contemplate the beauties 
of nature, but because they must lie no longer; 
and they rise to reiterated scenes of laborious 
exertion. From the rising to the setting of 
the sun they are employed in incessant labour, 
w ithout one moment of leisure for thought or 
reflection. Their minds are bound down by 
bodily toil, and can scarcely admit any ideas 
but such as are impressed on it by familiar 
objects and imperious wants. Their sensa¬ 
tions extend very little beyond mere animal 
life ; and they have, in general, little room 


384 


left to hope for any amelioration of tlieir 
condition; for a country labourer has seldom 
the means of providing, by the most strenu¬ 
ous and persevering exertions, a comfortable 
subsistence for old age. In the prime of 
youth, and in the vigour of manhood, he 
must strain every nerve with hard and con¬ 
tinual labour to provide a maintenance for 
his family; and whatever may be his desire 
of .procuring education for his children, he 
finds its accomplishment extremely difficult. 
When youth is passed, and strength begins to 
decay, he must still continue his herculean 
toil, and exert the remains of declining vigour, 
in order to procure a continuance of em¬ 
ployment and subsistence. He sees a new 
generation arise, and he must be a companion 
in labour with men in the bloom of youth 
and vigour, with whom he cannot, without 
exertions too great for his remaining strength, 
keep pace either with the sickle or the scythe. 
This is no exaggerated representation, but a 
just display of facts well known to all who 
have resided in the country, and observed 
that state in which the pastoral poets have 
placed the existence of human felicity. 

Or will you deem them amply paid in health. 

Labour’s fair child, that languishes with wealth ? 

Go then ! and see them rising with the sun, 

Thro’ a long course of daily toil to run j 


385 


See them beneath the dog-star’s raging heat, 

"When the knees tremble, and the temples beat ■; 
Behold them leaning on their scythes, look o’er 
The labour past, and toils to come explore; 

See them alternate suns and showers engage. 

And hoard up aches and anguish for their age ; 
Thro’ fens and marshy moors their steps pursue, 
When their warm pores imbibe the evening dew ; 
Then own that labour may as fatal be 
To these thy slaves as thine excess to thee. 

Amid this tribe too oft a manly pride 
Strives in strong toil the fainting heart to hide ; 
There may you see the youth of slender frame 
Contend with weakness, weariness, and shame ; 

Vet urged along, and proudly loth to yield. 

He strives to join his fellows of the field ; 

Till long contending nature droops at last. 
Declining health rejects his poor repast; 

His cheerless spouse the coming danger sees. 

And mutual murmurs urge the slow disease. 

Yet grant them health, ’tis not for us to tell, 
Though the head droops not that the heart is well; 
Or will you praise that homely healthy fare, 
Plenteous and plain, that happy peasants share ; 
Oh ! trifle not with wants you cannot feel, 

Nor mock the misery of a stinted meal. 

Homely, not wholesome, plain, not plenteous, such 
As you who praise would never deign to touch. 


Let us advance one step higher, and since 
the life of the labouring swain is evidently so 
far remote from that acme of mortal happL 
ness, of which the creative genius of poetry 
has delineated so imposing and so highly 
finished a picture, let us carry forward our 
observations to the farmer who moves in a 
somewhat higher sphere. He is not bound 

2 c 


386 



down to perperual toil like the labourer he 
employs, but he is perplexed with a thousand 
cares from which the latter is free. His rent 
is high, the expence of cultivation great, and 
he wishes his family to make the same figure 
as those of his neighbours : these circum¬ 
stances, united, call into exertion all his 
talents of speculation. If he happens to be 
in narrow circumstances, or, according to the 
country phrase, below his business, his mind 
is incessantly harrassed with corroding cares ; 
and if he be rich, the extensiveness of his 
undertakings, and the multiplicity of his 
concerns engage his whole attention, and, in 
a great measure, exclude every other subject 
of contemplation and inquiry. Those who 
reside in the country, and make agriculture 
their pursuit, unless their pecuniary circum¬ 
stances and intellectual acquirements be 
much superior to those of the peasantry in 
general, are in a condition that does not offer 
any ravishing scenes to the observation of the 
moral philosopher. 

Of all the scenes w hich a country residence 
and rural pursuits present to the eye of con¬ 
templation, the pastoral life is that which has 
furnished poetry with the most enchanting 
descriptions and the most imposing embellish¬ 
ments. Here, indeed, poets seem to be en« 


387 


raptured. Their imagination is all on fire, 
and they employ all the magic of poetical 
scenery, in order to communicate the flame, 
and to inspire their readers with the same 
extacy in which their own minds are en¬ 
tranced. Nothing within the regions of 
poetical fiction is more enchanting than the 
descriptions of pastoral life; nothing more 
charming than the felicity, virtue, and in¬ 
nocence of shepherds and shepherdesses. 
Those scenes of tranquillity and happiness 
must, however, be sought in the plains of 
the ancient Arcadia, and not in those of 
modern Europe. If the savage pastors of 
ancient Greece were such paragons of virtue, 
and such favourites of fortune, those of Eng¬ 
land, France, and Spain, are of a character 
diametrically opposite, and placed in a very 
different predicament ; for they are, beyond 
all manner of doubt, the most superstitious, 
the most ignorant, and the most brutal class 
of mortals that can be found in their re¬ 
spective countries. The beauties of nature, 
although constantly displayed to their view, 
seldom attract their notice; and if ever they 
turn an observing eye to any of its various 
appearances, it is solely to look for prog¬ 
nostics of fair weather or of an approaching 
storm. 


2c2 





388 


“ No shepherds now in smooth alternate verse, 

“ Their country’s beauty, or their nymph’s rehearse , 

“ Yet still for these we frame the tender strain, 

“ Still in our lays fond Corydons complain.” 

Crabbe, 

Some have remarked that the pastoral life, 
requiring long and constant attendance on 
the flocks, without that continuance of labo¬ 
rious exertion required on other rural em¬ 
ployments, affords a great deal of leisure for 
contemplation. It must, indeed, be granted, 
that a shepherd who has been fortunate enough 
to meet with some advantages of education in 
his youth, and happens to be of a contem¬ 
plative turn, has an opportunity of im¬ 
proving his mind, and enlarging his sphere 
of knowledge; which the labourer, who earns 
his bread by daily toil, does not possess. 
The former has many hours of tranquillity 
and leisure, which the latter does not enjoy ; 
and his freedom from bodily exertion, during 
so great a part of the day, gives to his mind 
the liberty of expansion and contemplative 
excursion. I he situation, however, of such 
a man in the pastoral life, would be nearly 
similar to that of an anchorite: secluded 
from society, lie might peruse books, study 
the volume of inanimate nature, and observe 
the operations of instinct in the animal crea¬ 
tion, but could not study mankind. 


389 


As it is evident that a country life affords 
but a slender stock of pleasures to those 
whose fortune or support depends on their 
personal exertions in rural employments and 
agricultural pursuits, it is requisite to in¬ 
quire what advantages it affords to such as 
are blessed with affluence, or at least with an 
easy competency. Such, indeed, are the only 
persons who are in a situation which enables 
them to derive any great degree of pleasure 
from local circumstances. The man of busi¬ 
ness cannot enjoy this privilege in any con¬ 
siderable extent ; and to persons who are 
entirely independent, both the country and 
the town afford such a variety of pleasures, 
of conveniences, and inconveniences, as nearly 
counterpoise one another, and render it 
difficult to decide, even from experience, on 
which side the scale preponderates. 

A country life is generally reckoned a life 
of retirement and tranquillity, but often with 
very little reason. A person may live as 
retired in a crowded metropolis as in a country 
village ; and, indeed, although it may seem 
somewhat paradoxical, the former affords a 
greater facility of indulging a propensity to 
retirement than the latter. It is almost im¬ 
possible to enjoy domestic privacy in a place 
where you cannot avoid the prying curiosity 

2 c 3 


300 


of neighbours, who will investigate all your 
family concerns, and even inspect and criti¬ 
cise the management of your kitchen, and 
the style of your cookery. If you be an old 
inhabitant, all the circumstances of your life 
are know n to the whole neighbourhood, and 
carefully registered in the gossips calendar. 
If you be a native, and your family have been 
for some time domiciliated in the place, the 
anecdotes, not only of your own but of the 
lh es of your parents, are frequently re¬ 
capitulated, and the faults of your grand¬ 
mother will not be suffered to lie buried in 
oblivion. If there happen to be any dis¬ 
graceful occurrence in the history of the 
family, the remembrance of it will not be 
lost; some good member of the sisterhood 
will take upon herself the task of trans¬ 
mitting it to posterity ; and before she takes 
her departure for those regions where the 

tales of scandal shall no more be heard or 

' * < 

told, will leave it as a legacy to the rising 
generation. 

If a stranger come to reside in a large city, 
no one inquires from w hence or for what 
reason he came. He passes unnoticed, and 
lives according to his own inclination. The 
crowd that surrounds him preserves his cir¬ 
cumstances from investigation, and his con- 


391 


duct from inspection. When a person comes 
to settle in a country village, all eyes are 
upon him; his conduct is critically ex¬ 
amined; every thing in his disposition and 
manners, that happens to be different from 
the accustomed habits of the people, is mark¬ 
ed as a criminal deviation, or at least an 
astonishing eccentricity, llis character and 
circumstances become a general subject of 
inquiryj and until the whole neighbourhood 
be acquainted with his history, inquisitive 
curiosity is not fully gratified. This dis¬ 
position, so prevalent in the country, naturally 
arises from the confined state of society, and 
the contracted sphere of observation that 
country situations afford. The events which 
take place in a country parish are few and 
trivial in themselves, but important and in¬ 
teresting to those who have no other subjects 
to excite or gratify curiosity. The marriage 
or death of an inhabitant, the removal of a 
family, the arrival of a stranger, or the un¬ 
lucky oversight of an unmarried w oman, are, 
in general, the most striking objects of at¬ 
tention, and the most interesting topics of 
conversation. It certainly cannot be called 
a life of retirement, where the most trilling 
circumstances of domestic affairs are made 
a subject of general inspection and critical 
inquiry. 2 c 4 


392 


One positive advantage, however, a rural 
situation affords, which may, with reason, be 
esteemed a counterpoise to many of those 
conveniences and pleasures with which popu¬ 
lous cities so amply abound. The air of the 
open country, where it is free from marshes 
and stagnant waters, is undoubtedly more 
salubrious than the dense and heavy atmos¬ 
phere of large and crowded cities, thickened 
by clouds of smoke, and contaminated by the 
various effluvia exhaling from numbers of 
narrow streets and alleys, poor and dirty 
habitations, warehouses of different com¬ 
modities, and unwholesome manufactories. 
The plain diet and invigorating employments 
of a country life are generally acknowledged 
to be highly conducive to health and lon¬ 
gevity ; while the luxurious refinements of 
cities are constantly allowed to be destructive 
to the human species. The question here in 
discussion, however, supposes not the com¬ 
pulsion of necessity, but the freedom of 
choice; not the imperious calls of business, 
but the advantage of independency and com¬ 
petence. In regard to the lower classes, who 
must work for their subsistence, the rustic 
labours of the country are undoubtedly more 
conducive to health than the greatest part of 
the employments which a large city affords ; 


393 


bat tiiis remark does not apply to persons oi 
a superior rank, who possess, almost ex¬ 
clusively, the power of choosing the place of 
their residence; and it is certain, that in 
respect of plainness of diet, every mode of 
temperance may be practised in town as well 
as in the country. 

In summing up the advantages and disad¬ 
vantages, the pleasures and the inconveniences 
incident to each situation, and putting their 
respective aggregates into the scale of com¬ 
parison, it appears that the particular taste 
and inclination of individuals must cast the 
balance and determine their preponderancy. 
To a person strongly attached to the sports 
of the field, or the contemplation of nature, 
the country is his proper element; such also 
is the city to one who finds his greatest 
pleasure in the assemblies of the opulent and 
gay, the circles of the polite and fashionable 
world, the amusements of the theatre, or the 
acquisition of science and literature. 

Mons. de Clairville, a native of Paris, had, 
like many others of the most respectable of 
his countrymen, emigrated at the time of the 
revolution. He had enjoyed an honourable 
and lucrative place under the monarchy, and 
by his provident foresight in placing the 
greatest part of his wealth in foreign funds, 


/ » 


304 


had saved, out of the wreck of an ample 
fortune, a competency sufficient to enable 
him to live, if not in an ostentatious, at least 
in an elegant stile. 11 is family consisted of 
his wife and two children, a son and a 
daughter, to both of whom nature had been 
lavish of her favours : both of them, to a 
pleasing and elegant exterior, united the more 
valuable accomplishments of the mind ; and 
their indulgent parents had not spared any 
expence in procuring them an excellent 
education. The most eminent masters, in 
every department of literature, had constantly 
attended them from the moment that they 
were capable of forming a thought or articu¬ 
lating a sound; and their genius and docility 
endeared them to their instructors. 

On their first emigration the family had 
retired to Coblentz, where a number of the 
emigrants were assembled. At first, the in¬ 
tention of Mons. de Clairville was to take up 
arms in a counter-revolutionary cause; but 
circumstances convinced him that the restora¬ 
tion of the monarchy was impossible. He 
therefore resolved to renounce all concern 
with public affairs, and to spend the remain¬ 
der of his life in philosophic leisure. He had 
designed to procure a commission for his son, 
but the unforeseen events which had taken 


i 


305 


place, had rendered his project abortive. He 
addressed himself to him in these terms: 
“ My son/ 5 said he, “ you know it was my 
intention, as well as your own desire, that 
you should be honourably placed in the 
army; but the course of events has frustrated 
the design. I have ever esteemed the pro¬ 
fession of arms in the highest degree honour¬ 
able, and peculiarly appropriated to the 
situation and rank of a gentleman, when they 
are borne in the defence of our country, and 
the support of legal authority; but I cannot 
reconcile myself to the idea of making war a 
trade as a mere mercenary. The monarchy 
of France is overturned, the kingdom of the 
lilies is no more ; we have no longer any 
country to defend ; proscribed by republican 
usurpers, we have nothing left to do but to 
seek an asylum in a country where happiness 
and freedom reign in placid tranquillity. 
This asylum England affords. Let us hasten 
to that fortunate land, the bulwark of civilized 
society, the native soil of rational liberty * 
where that noble plant first took root, and 
still flourishes, bidding defiance to the wintry 
blasts of those revolutionary storms which 
have laid waste our unfortunate country. 
My economy and foresight, attended with 
the blessing of Divine Providence, have been 
successful in securing an ample provision 


306 


for myself and you, my dear children. I yet 
possess enough to satisfy all reasonable de¬ 
sires. We will retire to England where we 
may live in philosophical and elegant retire¬ 
ment, amuse our leisure with the study of 
literature, enjoy the protection of equitable 
laws, and contemplate the structure of a 
government which constitutes the glory and 
happiness of a great nation/ 3 Madame de 
Clairville gave her hearty assent to the pro¬ 
posal ; and their son and daughter received it 
with rapture: the arrangements were speedily 
made: they embarked, arid descending down 
the Rhine, arrived at Rotterdam, where they 
took shipping for London, and arrived safely 
in the British metropolis. 

After some time spent in contemplating the 
novelty of the scene, and making comparisons 
between the capital of France, in which they 
had passed the early part of their youth, and 
that of England, in which they were to fix 
their future residence, the young Clairville 
and his sister resumed their literary pursuits. 
Under the most eminent masters in Paris, 
they had made a tolerable proficiency in the 
English language. After their arrival at 
London their attachment to literature con¬ 
tinued and increased; and they laboured 
with assiduity to extend the sphere of their 
knowledge. 


397 


The young Claimiles were well read in 
philosophy, and the Belles Lettres; but their 
ideas had taken a romantic turn. Their know¬ 
ledge of books was extensive, but their know¬ 
ledge of the world was only such as books 
could give. They had read all the descriptions 
of rural felicity that poets have given with 
such enthusiastic rapture, and had caught 
the infection. Having been constantly ac¬ 
customed to a city life, and immured first in 
Paris and afterw ards in London, they regarded 
those two immense capitals as nothing better 
than prisons, where the human species is in 
an unnatural state, where the fascinating 
charms of nature are unknow n, her beauties 
unobserved, and all genuine pleasures dis¬ 
regarded. They began seriously to sigh for 
rural delights; they longed to partake the 
-enjoyment of those happy scenes w hich the 
poets of almost every age had described with 
such enthusiasm, and which they had con¬ 
templated in idea with such rapture; and they 
anxiously wished for the happy time, when, 
bidding adieu to the noisy tumult of the 
metropolis, they might enjoy the peaceful 
company and innocent conversation of those 
nymphs and swains, of whose virtue and 
felicity they had read such extravagant en 


comi urns. 


308 


M ons. and Madame de Clairville, who were 
both persons of learning and experience, and 
equally conversant with books and with the 
world, had observed this romantic cast of 
mind in their children, and used every argu¬ 
ment that reading and an extensive acquaint¬ 
ance w ith mankind could suggest, in order to 
convince them of its extravagance. In this 
attempt to rectify their ideas, they were ex¬ 
ceedingly w ell seconded by Mons. de Falaise, 
an expelled ecclesiastic, who, like them, had 
emigrated from France in consequence of the 
revolution. This gentleman's knowledge of 
the world had kept pace with his literary 
acquisitions, and his learning and observa¬ 
tions were equally various and extensive, 
lie represented to them the troubles and in¬ 
conveniences incident to every station, and 
endeavoured to convince them that no con¬ 
dition of life is free from those evils w hich are 
the common lot of humanity. Mademoiselle 
de. Clairville used frequently to reply, 64 We 
do not expect to find any situation exempt 
from those natural evils which providence 
has, with unerring w isdom, allotted to human 
beings; but certainly some conditions of life 
are free from those artificial evils which the 
vices and follies of mankind produce.Her 
brother would sometimes add, 44 those brilliant 


399 


and fascinating descriptions of human felicity* 
with which pastoral poets crowd and em¬ 
bellish their pages, must be drawn from some 
original; they cannot be wholly the work of 
imagination.” The reasoning of their parents, 
and their preceptor, seemed sometimes to 
make them waver in their opinion, and sus¬ 
pect that there might be some degree of ex¬ 
aggeration in those poetical descriptions; but 
as writers seemed so invariably to agree in 
their representations of rural happiness, they 
could scarcely suppose that so general a com¬ 
bination could have been formed, in order to 
impose on credulity, by painting ideal scenes 
created in the imagination without any 
existence in reality. The favourite idea con¬ 
stantly recurred, and as they concluded that 
experiment must be the surest method of 
rectifying opinion, they resolved to petition 
their parents to indulge them with a summer’s 
excursion into the country, in order to 

“ Clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, 

“ To see and judge if books report it right.” 

Parnel. 


This request was no sooner made than granted. 
M. de Clairville, whose official duties had re¬ 
quired his residence to be constantly at Paris, 
had not, in the course of many years, enjoyed 


400 


the opportunity of retiring for a few month * 
into the country; and his long and unremitted 
application to business had not a little im¬ 
paired his health. lie was, therefore, the 
more ready to indulge his son and daughter 
in a pleasure, which, innocent in itself, pro¬ 
mised the most beneficial effects, and ap¬ 
peared equally conducive to the re-establish- 
inent of his own health, and the rectification 
of their notions. 

Their resolution to bid adieu for a season 
to the bustle of the metropolis was immedi¬ 
ately fixed, and the preparations for their 
departure were soon made. M. de Falaise, 
who was equally acquainted with a town and 
a country life, and knew the mode of living 
and the general state of society among the 
lower classes, as also the easiest method of 
procuriug a free access to their company and 
conversation, advised them to travel in the 
plainest and simplest style, as any mark of 
ostentation would naturally keep the rustics 
at a distance, and whenever an opportunity 
of conversation occurred, induce them to 
appear under a mask, and disguise their 
opinions and sentiments. They travelled, 
therefore, by the stage coach, unattended by 
any servant except a single maid. As they 
all spoke the language so well, that it was not 



401 


easy to discover them to be foreigners; they 
passed for Londoners of some fortune who 
had retired from business. They fixed their 
residence in a small country village, where 

%j O' 

they had the good fortune to find a neat little 
cottage to be let, which exactly suited their 
purpose. Although not spacious, it was con¬ 
venient, and one ot the handsomest houses in 
the place. Here they passed for a family 
that possessed a small independency, and 
had come into the country for the sake of a 
healthful air and cheapness of living. The 
first time they made their appearance at the 
parish church, all eyes were fixed on them, 
and the young people were almost stared out 
of countenance. Tlie minister made an ex¬ 
cellent sermon, but little of it was remember¬ 
ed by the congregation ; and most of them 
forgot the text, while every one could re¬ 
member each particular in the dress and 
demeanour of llie strangers. 

The first company they received consisted 
only of the vicar and his lady. They were 
both of them good-natured, cheerful, in¬ 
telligent, and communicative. Both were of 
an acute penetration, and thoroughly ac¬ 
quainted with the world. The gentleman 
was a consummate scholar * and the lady 
possessed all the know ledge, and was adorned 



402 


with all the virtues suitable to her sex. In 
their society, the newly-arrived family found 
that they had made a valuable acquisition. 

The clergyman, who was as good a judge of 
men as of books, soon discovered the strangers 
to be persons of no ordinary rank. He found 
them desirous of information, and made them 
acquainted with the circumstances of the 
village and its adjacent neighbourhood, the 
qualities of its soil, its productions, the em¬ 
ployments, manners, and modes of life of the 
inhabitants, topics of conversation to them 
entirely new. They were delighted with his 
discourse, and also with the lively and sensible 
remarks of his w ife ; but from the picture of 
village society which they drew, the young 
Mons. and Mademoiselle de Clairville soon 
found strong reasons to suspect that they 
should be disappointed in their expectation 
of contemplating, in this place, those scenes 
of happiness with w hich their fancy had been 
so amused. They could not avoid perceiving 
that the picture draw n by the clergyman was 
very different from that which fancy had 
delineated, and their own experience alone 
was to determine whether the poets or the 
observer had incurred the mistake. 

They had made this excursion for the 
purpose of examining those scenes of life and 


403 


those modifications of the human mind, with 
which the great and the learned are in general 
but little acquainted; and they were resolved 
to lose no opportunity of observation. Their 
plain and simple style of life soon brought 
them into an intimate familiarity with the 
farmers, and even with the labourers, with 
whom they daily mixed in conversation. To 
the houses of the farmers they made frequent 
visits, and in all of them heard the same com¬ 
plaints of their high rents, their great dis¬ 
bursements in wages to servants and labour¬ 
ers, their own laborious exertions in order to 
lessen, as much as possible, those enormous 
expences, and the impossibility of saving any 
thing to portion their daughters or settle their 
sons. In every house which they entered, 
they found nothing but hurry and bustle in¬ 
termixed with anxious solicitude for the ad¬ 
vancement of their business, and heard little 
else than complaints against the unkindness 
of their neighbours, or narratives of the care¬ 
lessness or idleness of their servants. When 
they discoursed with the servants or labourers, 
they were constantly entertained with an 
account of the niggardliness or ill-nature of 
their masters and mistresses, the hardness of 
their labour, or the scantiness of their food ; 
the difficulty of procuring bread for their 

2 D 2 


/ 


404 

families, and the absolute impossibility of 
layingup any thing for their support in sick¬ 
ness or old age. 

--- <{ I paint the cot 

“ As truth will paint it and as bards will not*” 

Crabbe. 

They soon perceived, that, among these 
rustics, existence was one continued scene of 
bustle and exertion to procure the necessaries 
of life, with a very small portion of its con¬ 
veniences, that the same envyings, the same 
complaints of mutual wrongs, and the same 
spirit of intrigue and cabal existed in this 
small village as in places where the most im¬ 
portant affairs are debated, and the fate of 
empires determined. In observing the manners 
of this sequestered spot, they found among its 
inhabitants a particular agreement and uni¬ 
formity of taste in delighting to hear and 
relate the vices and follies of their neighbours. 
The first good-natured gossip with whom they 
fell into conversation, favoured them with an 
account of the scandalous register of the place 
from the earliest period of her remembrance, 
and added, by way of appendix, w hat she 
had heard from her grandmother, and other 
good old women of former days. These tales 
of scandal were sometimes interrupted by 
animadversions on the bad management of 




405 


their neighbours in their farms or daries, and 
on the niggardly parsimony or expensive ex¬ 
travagance of their house-keeping. The men 
informed them how well some of their neigh¬ 
bours might have lived, and what money they 
might have acquired by a proper manner of 
cultivating their farms, and by a strict at¬ 
tention to their business; and the women 
told them what a great quantity of butter 
several house-wives of the village might send 
every week to the market, if they knew how 
to manage their daries. In fine, they per¬ 
ceived that there was some flaw in the charac¬ 
ter, the conduct, the economy or housewifery 
of every one except the person who was 
actually favouring them with the important 
information. 

One evening, as they were conversing by 
the fire-side, in their little cottage, M. de 
Clairville asked his son and daughter what 
they thought of rural happiness. “ Indeed,^ 
said the young gentleman, “ I think the 
specimen we have here found, neither exhibits 
a very pleasing picture, nor affords any flatter¬ 
ing expectation. I hear nothing but mutual 
complaints and reciprocal censure; nothing 
presents any spectacle of happiness or con¬ 
tentment; but I cannot suppose this to be 
every where the case, we must have made a 

2 d 3 


406 


wrong choice of a situation/’ “It appears to 
me,” added Mademoiselle, “that Ihe inhabi¬ 
tants of this village labour under some par¬ 
ticular disadvantages, and feel the pressure 
of some circumstances peculiarly unfavour¬ 
able, which sour their temper and render 
them querulous, censorious, and discontented. 
Their rents are high, and the times are hard: 
provisions are dear, and labourers complain. 
1 do not,” continued she, “ yet despair of 
finding a place where things will have a 
different aspect; and did I not indulge this 
expectation, I should already wish to be 
among the busy crowd of the city.” 

Mons de Clairville made no comment on 
their suppositions. Being desirous that their 
own observations alone should produce con¬ 
viction, he was unwilling to anticipate ex¬ 
perience, and told them, that as their expecta¬ 
tions had been hitherto disappointed, and as 
they were not likely to contemplate any new 
scenes, nor make any new discoveries in the 
place where they then resided, he should pro¬ 
pose to change their abode, and to look out 
for some situation where they might be more 
fortunate; but that he should leave the matter 
to their decision, as he had made this excursion 
for their gratification. The young persons 
received the proposal with rapture, Mad. de 


407 


Clairville, who was particularly desirous of 
rectifying the romantic notions of her son and 
daughter, readily acquiesced in the measure, 
and M. de Falaise, who knew that experience 
and observation afford the best cure for the 
vagaries of fancy, determined the matter by 
his decided approbation. 

The necessary arrangements being made 
for their departure, from a place which had 
so greatly disappointed their expectations, 
they took a friendly leave of the vicar and his 
family, with whom they had spent many 
agreeable hours; and after bidding farewel to 
most of the inhabitants, they departed in 
search of a new abode, leaving the whole 
neighbourhood lost in conjecture. Some 
imagined that urgent business had called 
them away, while others supposed that they 
had come at the first to conceal themselves 
from the pursuit of creditors, and that their 
retreat being discovered, the fear of arrest had 
caused the precipitancy of their removal. 
These various surmises coming to their ears 
before they left the place, would have given 
some uneasiness to the young persons, had 
they not been already sufficiently instructed, 
by experience, to expect that their arrival, 
abode, and departure, would supply the 
parish with a copious subject of conversation 

2 d 4 


408 


and conjecture. They set out, however, and 
left their neighbours bewildered in a labyrinth 
of doubt and uncertainty concerning the 
affair, and more than ever desirous of knowing 
the circumstances of the strangers, the reason 
of their coming, and the cause of their sudden 
departure. 

After some days spent in erratic travelling, 
they arrived at last in a village where there 
was a commodious house to be let; and as it 
seemed to be a situation answerable to their 
views, they resolved to fix in that place their 
residence, and to recommence their course of 

observations. The houses were considerablv 

«/ 

better built than in the village they had left; 
and although that which they took to rent 
was not one of the largest or the best in the 
place, it was very convenient, tolerably hand¬ 
some, agreeably situated, and sufficiently 
large for so small a family. Here they began 
to live in a plain but yet a somewhat more 
elegant style than they had hitherto done, 
which appeared necessary to their design, as 
they observed a greater air of opulence here 
than in the place where they had last resided. 
They did not, however, find the minds of the 
inhabitants more cultivated, nor their manners 
more refined, except in some ceremonious 
punctilios, by which a few individuals, who 


409 


wished to set themselves up for persons of 
more than ordinary consequence, endeavoured 
to appear polite, and considered the rest of 
their neighbours as little better than bar¬ 
barians. 

Here they renewed their course of moral 
experiments, and began to introduce them¬ 
selves to an acquaintance with the people, 
but found it absolutely necessary to furnish 
their cottage a little more elegantly, to dress 
somewhat more genteelly, and to assume an 
air of greater importance, in order to be ad¬ 
mitted to the familiarity of the principal in¬ 
habitants, who prided themselves in being 
considered as persons of some distinction. 

This plan succeeded; and in a short time 
0 

they received and returned the visits of the 
most considerable persons of the village. The 
pleasure of those interviews had been antici¬ 
pated with rapture by the young Mons. and 
Mademoiselle de Clairville, who had expected 
greater elegance of discourse, and more ex- 
tensive information among those refined 
villagers than they had met with among the 
homely rustics of their former residence. 
Here, however, they again experienced the 
mortification of disappointment; and were 
astonished to find no greater elevation of 
ideas, no greater extent of observation, no 


410 


higher intellectual attainments, than in the 
society they had lately quitted. The princi¬ 
pal part of the conversation generally con¬ 
sisted in censorious strictures, and invidious 
remarks on the conduct and pecuniary cir¬ 
cumstances of their neighbours. One very 
communicative person informed them, that 
a neighbour's daughter had been guilty of an 
indiscretion some years ago; and another 
related that such a one’s daughter got married 
a while since, but that her father, notwith¬ 
standing his high looks, and the gay ap¬ 
pearance of his family, could give her only 
a very small portion; and that another re¬ 
spectable young woman was to have been 
married not long ago, and would have met 
with a very good match, but when it came to 
a point, her father “ could not raise the wind.” 
The most distinguishable difference in moral 
ideas, to be observed between their present 
and former situation, was, that here a greater 
degree of insolent pride seemed attached to 
the possession of money, and a more visible 
contempt manifested towards those who were 
destitute of that useful commodity, or of any 
known equivalent. 

As in the village where they had before 
resided, so likewise in their present place of 
abode, the scandalous chronicle furnished an 


411 




inexhaustible fund of conversation; and the 
good-natured gossips were extremely careful 
that the strangers should not long remain 
ignorant of its contents. Its ample page was 
unfolded; the follies and misconduct of the 
preceding as well as the present generation 
were brought upon the carpet, and detailed 
with the most circumstantial accuracy. They 
w ere soon favoured with an exact account of 
all the children that had been born before or 
too soon after marriage; of all the females 
who had, in their former days, deviated from 
the path of virtue; and of all those who 
had been hardly talked of. These anecdotes 
of human frailty were repeated in almost 
every visit, and in almost every conversa¬ 
tion. Each communicative companion re¬ 
lated all the instances of feminine weak¬ 
ness which had come to her knowledge, 
with the sole exception of her own ; and 
as this deficiency was generally supplied 
by the information of the next friendly visi¬ 
tor, the history was soon rendered complete. 
Every officious informant, however, took care 
to demonstrate her aversion to scandal, by 
declaring that 44 she would not, on any ac¬ 
count, have her name brought into question, 
as all the world knew that she was one who 
did not like to vilify her neighbours.” 


412 


While these good-natured people were thus 
exercising the faculties of imagination and 
memory, in communicating to the strangers 
such a mass of important intelligence, they 
were not less anxious to indemnify themselves 
for their trouble by obtaining some knowledge 
of their affairs, nor less busily employed in 
attempting to investigate their circumstances; 
and in this obscure inquiry, the want of in¬ 
formation was supplied by fertility of inven¬ 
tion, and ingenuity of conjecture. Some 
supposed them to be persons in respectable 
circumstances, while others imagined that 
Mons. de Clairville was a broken tradesman, 
who could no longer show his face among his 
acquaintance, and had brought his family to 
that place to hide his pov erty in a country re¬ 
tirement. Many thought that his son had been 
wild, and that he had found it necessary to 
separate him from his old companions; but the 
greater number conjectured that Miss had been 
wanton, and that her parents had removed 
her into the country with a view of breaking 
off her improper connexions. One well- 
meaning lady, who pretended to an uncom¬ 
mon share of sagacity, declared that she 
had often known such things done, and that 
she should not in the least wonder if the 
young lady had made some false step; and 


413 


another, ambitious of showing herself superior 
to her neighbours in acuteness of penetration, 
and accuracy of intelligence, positively as¬ 
serted that she had received information, in 
a letter from a correspondent in London, a 
person of indisputable veracity, one of her 
sister-in-law’s distant cousins, that a young 
woman, in the street where she lived, had 
eloped with an extravagant young tradesman, 
and that as she had been brought up by a 
needy uncle and aunt, they had all gone off 
somewhere into the country, to live out of 
the young fellow’s money as long as it lasted; 
and as this sagacious person assured those 
with whom she conversed that her penetra¬ 
tion seldom failed, she communicated to 
them her very important conjecture, that 
these strangers were, in all probability, the 
identical persons. 

These surmises were no sooner expressed, 
than they were disseminated throughout the 
whole circle of the village society, and with 
the same rapidity communicated to those 
who were the objects of their application. 
The young gentleman and lady, especially 
the latter, lost all patience, and declared 
that they would not remain any longer in a 
place where detraction was the principal topic 
of conversation, and the chief amusement of 


414 


social intercourse. M. de Falaise laughed at 
their impatience, and told them, that as they 
had made this excursion for the purpose of 
observing the different conditions of life, and 
modifications of society, they must submit to 
the inconveniences of the experiment, and 
expect to meet with some things of a dis¬ 
agreeable nature in the gratification of 
curiosity, and the acquisition of moral know¬ 
ledge. These vexatious surmises and disgrace¬ 
ful tales, added he, must be ranked among 
those inconveniences and dissatisfactions, to 
which all are occasionally subject. De¬ 
traction, like death, must have its victims, 
and spares none. Have patience a little 
while, said he, and some novel circumstance 
will surprise inquisitive prudery, engross at¬ 
tention, exercise the loquacious talents of the 
sisterhood, and withdraw the eye of curiosity 
from you and your concerns. 

This observation of M. de Falaise proved 
equivalent to a prediction. Within a few 
days the daughter of a respectable inhabitant 
was discovered to be in a disgraceful situa¬ 
tion. This important and unexpected affair 
attracted the attention, gratified the malevo¬ 
lence, and excited the conjectures of the 
whole sisterhood. 

I irst whispering gossips were in parties seen-, 

Then louder scandal walked the village green. 


415 


A rational view of the matter might induce 
a supposition that the unfortunate miscon¬ 
duct of a neighbour, instead of affording a 
feast to sneering malignity, would, in the 
mouth of every parent, have been a cautionary 
lesson to her daughter, and have furnished 
an occasion of pointing out the fatal con¬ 
sequences of levity and indiscretion. Pru¬ 
dence would have required, and maternal 
affection might have dictated such a conduct. 
Nothing of the kind, however, was practised 
among the matrons of the village ; but all 
their inquisitive powers were exerted, and 
every means of investigation employed to 
find out who was the father of the unborn 
infant, whether lie would make the girl satis¬ 
faction by marriage, and a thousand particu¬ 
lars besides of equal importance. One said, 
“ who could have thought it ?” another said, 
“ who could have thought any other ?” a 
third said, “ the little modest minx has not 
in the least deceived me;” another declared 
that she thought the girPs younger sister was 
44 a forward little puss but that she, for her 
part, “would not be the speaker of it.” One 
elderly lady assured the company, at a tea table 
conversation, where the strangers were present, 
that the fair delinquent’s mother “ had once, 
in her time, been reckoned no better than 


416 


she should be and another, of the same 
description, said that she could tell them ot 
“ many pretty pranks that had, in former 
days, been played in that family,” but that 
she was one who “never troubled her head 
about other people’s concerns.” After this 
prelude, she proceeded to entertain them with 
a long train of scandalous anecdotes, partly 
of the past and partly of the present genera¬ 
tion, and concluded by assuring them, that 
there was nothing which she detested more 
than “ to speak ill of her neighbours.” And 
another grave and venerable matron, who 
had herself, in her former days, forfeited her 
title to rank among the vestals, closed the 
edifying conversation, by informing her as¬ 
sociates, that she heard an old aunt of hers, 
who was a very creditable person, say, on the 
authority of another old lady of as unim¬ 
peachable veracity as herself, that the grand¬ 
mother of the young woman in question, 
was very harshly spoken of about sixty or 
seventy years ago, which was long before 
most of the company present had received 
existence. 

The young Mons. and Mademoiselle de 
Clairville listened with equal attention and 
disgust. They admired the retentive memory, 
and lamented the depraved taste of those 


417 


propagators of scandal, who find a malignant 
pleasure in publishing the misconduct of 
their neighbours, and perpetuating the re¬ 
membrance of those follies or vices, which 
ought first to operate as a warning to others, 
and then be pitied and forgotten. 

In consequence of this afternoon s conver¬ 
sation, the young gentleman and his sister, 
with their sage mentor M. de Falaise, began 
to moralize on the circumstance, and to in¬ 
quire into the cause of that strange depravity 
of mind which takes pleasure in telling or 
hearing those narratives of human weakness. 
“ What a pity it is/* said the young lady, 
“that conversation should so often turn upon 
such mischievous or such trifling subjects. 
Whence can arise the pleasure of raking out 
of the dust of oblivion the follies and frailties 
of those whose bodies are now bending under 
the decrepitude of age, or rotting in the 
silent grave.** “ I suppose,*’ said her brother, 
“ that those who fabricate or publish the 
anecdotes of scandal, think to extenuate such 
of their own indiscretions as are known, or 
at least to prevent any suspicion of such as 
are concealed, and to impress on their hearers 
an opinion of the propriety of their conduct, 
and the strictness of their morals, by their 
ostensible disapprobation of vice in others; 

2 E 


418 


and I am the more inclined to be of this 
opinion, from observing that deviations from 
the path of virtue are generally the most 
diligently traced, and the most industriously 
published by those who, if we may believe 
the reports of common fame, have not them¬ 
selves been paragons of prudence, nor patterns 

of chastity/* 

«/ 

“These considerations/* answered M. de 
Falaise, “ have undoubtedly some weight in 
the minds of those who delight in scrutinizing 
the conduct, and exposing the vices and 
follies of their neighbours. When a person 
is conscious of some deviation from the path 
of moral rectitude or prudential discretion, 
lie naturally imagines that the frequency of 
such violations of morality or decorum will 
render them less glaring, and diminish their 
deformity, in proportion to the increase of 
their number* He flatters himself that his 
own foibles will be less conspicuous among 
a crowd of similar instances, as in eomtem- 
plating a multiplicity of objects, how striking 
soever any one might singly appear, it be¬ 
comes far less observable by being in so 
numerous a group ; or if those objects be 
viewed in succession, each one, by striking 
the eye and the mind, contributes to weaken 
the impression made by the preceding ones. 


419 


It is thus that a person, conscious of some in¬ 
discretion, and imagining the eye of observa¬ 
tion turned towards him, naturally thinks 
that his own misconduct will be less noticed, 
and more easily excused, when accompanied 
with a number of parallel cases, and that 
every deviation observed among his neigh¬ 
bours will draw the public attention from 
him, by directing it towards the last dis¬ 
covered failure.” 

64 These arguments, however,” said Made¬ 
moiselle de Clairville, 4 4 are equally applicable 
to all situations, and the principle on which 
they are founded being interwoven in the 
moral system, and fixed in human nature, 
must operate equally in town and country ; 
but our own observations have convinced us 
that the spirit of investigating the private 
concerns of others, of censuring their con¬ 
duct, and calumniating their characters, is 
more prevalent and active in country villages 
than in large and populous cities/* 44 This,” 
replied M. de Falaise, 44 is to be ascribed to 
the difference in the state of society in those 
different situations. Curiosity is so natural 
to the human mind, that scarcely any one is 
entirely free from its impulse. Every one is 
desirous of obtaining some information re- 

2 e 2 


420 


lative to subjects, either of an important or a 
trivial nature. Where the former are want¬ 
ing, the latter attract attention, and thus 
trifles become interesting.” 

The young M. de Clairville, here inter¬ 
rupting their sage instructor, said 44 permit 
me, sir, to mention a remark which I have 
frequently made in the course of our ex¬ 
cursion. The legends of superstition, the 
tales of scandal, and all the farrago of absur¬ 
dities that occupy the minds, and exercise 
the tongues of the people with whom I have 
of late so frequently conversed, are generally 
represented as the topics only of female 
gossips, and on that account are denominated 
old women’s tales, an expression w hich seems 
to indicate their peculiar and exclusive ap¬ 
propriation to that class of beings; but to 
my exceeding great surprise, I have generally 
found the same ideas equally prevalent, and 
the same subjects of conversation equally 
common among the men as among the other 
sex. Their notions are as absurd, and their 
conervsation, for the most part, as uninterest¬ 
ing ; and the male and the female gossips 
appear, in this respect, to differ only in sex : 
in their mental associations, they are perfectly 

similar ; and both may be included in one 

•/ 

general representation.” 


421 


“This, my clear sir, ,? replied M. de Falaise, 
ought not to excite your astonishment. 
Nature lias made no difference in the male and 
the female intellect. The mental endow¬ 
ments of the latter are in no respect inferior 
to those of the former sex, and where any 
such inferiority exists, it is the result of 
education and habits of life. From a dif¬ 
ference in these originates all the disparity 
of intellectual powers that can be observed 
between the two sexes, and which is no 
longer discoverable when similar circum¬ 
stances or equal opportunities have called 
their abilities into exertion, and given ex¬ 
pansion to their ideas. Females have made a 
distinguished figure in every situation of life, 
as well as in every department of science and 
literature, and you are not ignorant that the 
number of those who have been eminent for 
their talents, as well as their virtues, crowd 
the pages of history. In native vigour of 
mind, and extent of understanding, one sex 
cannot claim any superiority over the other ; 
and your own observations in this place, may 
convince you, that where the education of 
both is nearly equal, and their habits of life 
strikingly similar, their ideas will be confined 
within the same circle. Absurd ideas, and 
scandalous reports, indeed, are held up to 

2 e 3 


422 

. Ui» N 

ridicule by their appropriation to old women; 
but although custom has established this 
kind of phraseology, we are only to consider 
it as a figurative mode of expression, indi¬ 
cative of mental debility, or moral profligacy. 
In this signification of the term, there are old 
women in breeches as well as in petticoats, 
and, indeed, it is not easy to determine which 
are the most numerous. 

44 W hat I am now going to add,’’ continued 
M. de Falaise, “ is equally applicable to both 
sexes. We had been remarking the universal 
prevalence and irresistible power of curiosity, 
and the importance which trifles acquire 
when laudable subjects of investigation are 
wanting. You must have observed, that 
even in large cities, society is formed into 
different circles, which, like country villages, 
have their particular topics of conversation. 
The trifling incidents which happen among 
them excite the spirit of inquiry for a moment, 
and furnish temporary subjects of discussion. 
These, however, are soon forgotten amidst the 
multiplicity of occurrences which are of a 
more important nature, and more forcibly 
attract the public attention. In a large and 
crowded metropolis, a variety of interesting 
objects and incidents successively excite and 
gratify curiosity, give expansion to the mind, 
and animation to discourse. 


423 


“ In small places the case is different : 
where society is on a more contracted scale, 
and the sphere of observation confined within 
narrower limits, a paucity of ideas must be 
expected. Where the subjects of observa¬ 
tion and reflection are few and trivial, the 
topics of discourse are the same. The general 
attention is eagerly turned to insignificant 
objects : the mind is engaged in frivolous in¬ 
quiries, and satisfied with unimportant in¬ 
formation. It may always be observed, that 
when the mind is accustomed to amuse itself 
with trifles, and to confine its researches and 
reflections within a contracted circle, it sel¬ 
dom directs its attention or inquiries to 
things which are of greater importance, but 
placed at a greater distance from the usual 
but narrow range of its observations. In 
such a state of intellectual sterility, trifles 
become interesting; and the occurrences in 
a neighbour’s family, or the petty transactions 
of the village, engage attention, and excite 
the spirit of scrutiny as much as the revolu¬ 
tions of empires.” 

“But,” said Mad. de Clairville, “is there no 
remedy for this almost universal evil, which, 
like a pestilential contagion, scarcely affords 
any exemption from the virulence of its 
attacks ? Can neither the precepts of re- 

2 e 4 


424 


ligion, nor the dictates of philanthropy, check 
that malignity of disposition which delights 
in w ounding the reputation of every one who 
comes within the reach of its infected breath, 
which aggravates criminality by the addition 
of fictitious circumstances, or supposes its 
existence although destitute of proof ? y 

44 The means which you appear to suppose 
adapted to this desirable end,” replied M. de 
Falaise, 44 are certainly those which alone 
can prove effectual. From the observations 
already made, you will, however, perceive 
that there are other means of a subordinate 
nature, the use of which might be extremely 
conducive to the eradication of this moral 
contagion, which makes such havock in 
society. The love of scandal always prevails 
in the circles of ignorance and folly, and 
diminishes in proportion to the cultivation 
of the intellect. To extinguish this spirit 
of malignity, it is therefore requisite to culti¬ 
vate a taste for reading, in order to furnish 
the mind with a variety of ideas, and multiply 
the means of acquiring useful information, 
which would supply a fund of entertainment 
more congenial to its sublime nature, and 
more interesting than that of hearing and 
relating the anecdotes of human depravity. 
In spite of the benevolent spirit of chris- 


425 


tianity, and the fulminations of its preachers, 
the demon of detraction still rears its head 
in almost every neighbourhood, and will 
never be banished from society while active 
curiosity is united to sterility of intellect. 
Topics of discourse must be found, and tiie 
want of useful knowledge will generally be 
supplied by the reports of scandal, and the 
tattle of the day.” 

“ Her busy tongue thro’ all the little state 

“ Diffuses doubt, suspicion, and debate.” 

Crabbe. 

64 From almost every circumstance of life, 
however,” continued M. de Falaise, 44 a w ell 
organized mind will imbibe instruction, and 
even from the malignant activity of scandal 
some advantages may be derived. It ought 
to put every one, young persons especially, 
upon their guard against every thing in their 
deportment that can have the slightest ap¬ 
pearance of a deviation from the path of 
rectitude, or be susceptible of an unfavour¬ 
able construction. If, however, after all, 
they find themselves injured by unjust defa¬ 
mation, for detraction is not restrained by 
the boundaries of truth, but often attacks 
the most virtuous characters, conscious in¬ 
nocence will produce tranquillity of mind, 
and repel the darts of malevolence.” 


426 


The young gentleman and lady were ex¬ 
ceedingly pleased with this dissertation; and 
promised to remember the important lesson 
which formed its conclusion. They now 
began to consider that they had already made 
all the observations they could possibly make 
in their present situation, and thought it 
unnecessary to prolong their stay for the 
sake of making such as could no longer be 
new or interesting, or of viewing conditions 
of life and modes of society similar to those 
which they had already sufficiently contem¬ 
plated, and with which they w ere heartily 
disgusted. They were weary of repeated 
disappointments, and surprised to find the 
pleasures of rural occupations, and the charms 
of rural society, fall so far short of the pictures 
exhibited by poets and moralists; who had 
contemplated life in idea, not as it exists in 
reality, and described its scenery from con¬ 
jecture, and not from experience. They now 
began to neglect the society which the place 
of their residence afforded, and amused them¬ 
selves chiefly in perambulating the fields, 
making daily excursions into the circum¬ 
jacent country, and conversing indiscrimi¬ 
nately, as occasion offered, with persons of 
every description. In these desultory rambles 
they found an indescribable pleasure in con- 


427 


templating the beauties of nature, and the 
magnificent display of her diversified scenery, 
her prolific opulence, and variegated luxuri¬ 
ance ; but on every occasion of conversing 
with the peasants, of whatever degree they 
might be, they found that solicitude, care, 
and anxiety, prevailed in their minds, unless 
when forcibly dispelled by incessant labour, 
which left no room for thought, or smothered 
by stupid ignorance, which extinguished the 
powers of reflection. The rich variety of 
productions, with which the face of the 
country was covered, afforded its occupiers 
no other pleasure than that of calculating 
how much money the crops might produce, 
and how far that sum would enable them to 
answer the demands of the landlord, the ex- 

3 ) 

pences of cultivation, the payment of parish 
rates, and the urgent wants of their families. 
The minds of the labouring part of the 
peasantry were engrossed solely with the 
hopes of a diminution in the price of grain, 
or the fear of its advancement, and their 
thoughts absorbed in calculating whether 
they should be able, out of the wages of their 
summer’s labour, to spare enough, from the 
expences of daily subsistence, to purchase a 
little coal for the winter season, and a little 
coarse cloathing to screen themselves and 


428 


their children from the severity of the 
weather. The young strangers could no 
where discover any appearance of that life 
of philosophy, contemplation, and mental 
serenity, which they had once expected to 
lind in the midst of rural scenery and agri¬ 
cultural occupations. # 

The beautiful appearance, however, of the 
hills and valleys, of the fields covered with 
waving crops, the meadows enamelled with 
flowers, and the pastures peopled with herds 
of cattle, and flocks of sheep, presented a rich 
and variegated scene, which for some time 
charmed and amused the perambulators, and 
compensated the disappointments and dis¬ 
satisfaction which they experienced in social 
intercourse. At length, however, those rural 
objects, in losing their novelty, began to lose 
their charms. The variegated landscapes. 


* Mr. Pratt, in his Gleanings, describes a group of labourers re¬ 
turning from the harvest field in the evening ; and, after some com¬ 
mon place remarks and reasonings, concludes with this reflection, 
that if those people are not happy it is surely their own fault. But 
if Mr. Pratt had shared with them the labours of the day, and of 
successive days, he would have been a more competent judge of 
their happiness; or if that had not been enough, he might, after the 
harvest was ended, have changed the scythe or the sickle for the 
flail. Such an experiment would have enabled him to make a 
complete estimate of the comforts of the labouring peasantry. It is 
somewhat surprising that the rich and the great, or at least that the 
poets and philosophers, are never tempted to taste of a happiness 
of which they form so delightful an idea. The pleasures of hard 
labour and homely fare are within every man’s reach. 




429 


winch for a while offered to the eye a con- 
slant succession of fascinating views, began 
lo appear less beautiful, the contemplation of 
fields and meadows, of lowing heards and 
bleating flocks, gave less delight, their per¬ 
ambulations became less frequent, and to 
enjoy the pleasures of novelty and variety, it 
was necessary to make more distant excur¬ 
sions. As their eyes now began to be weary 
of the constant recurrence of the same objects, 
their minds began to flag through the dull 
uniformity of the scene, and the want of en¬ 
livening society, and varied conversation. 
They resolved therefore, with unanimous 
consent to return immediately to the me¬ 
tropolis. 

As they travelled without an equipage, the 
arrangement was soon made for their de- 
parture, and after having taken a friendly 
leave of their neighbours, whom they left 
busily employed in scrutinizing their reasons 
for making so short a stay, they set out with¬ 
out giving themselves much concern respecting 
the labyrinth of conjecture in which they left 
them involved; and travelled two days at a 
very moderate rate, w ithout any circumstance 
worth notice, or any opportunity of making 
new or interesting remarks. On the third 
afternoon of their journey, they entered a 


430 


district which appeared to them a terrestrial 
paradise. The incessant alternation of hill 
and dale, lawns and groves, diversified the 
scene with indescribable beauty and endless 
variety ; and the different appearance of the 
arrangement of objects, from every new 
station, as they passed along the road, dis¬ 
played, from each point of view, a prospect 
equally novel and delightful. 

Nearly in the centre of this enchanting 
spot stood a commodious inn ; and although 
it was early in the afternoon, the amenity of 
the place determined them to remain all 
night. They had no sooner alighted, and 
taken some refreshment, than they all took 
a ramble into the adjacent grounds, and 
wandered from field to field, and from hill 
to hill; at every step discovering new beauties, 
and surprised, on ascending each eminence, 
with the sudden burst of the most delightful 
prospects, and the view of opening landscapes 
equally fascinating and unexpected. The 
harvest, waving on the ground, promised 
the most luxuriant abundance ; the charming 
serenity of the air breathed health, and every 
thing around indicated the sweets of tran¬ 
quillity, and the exuberance of plenty. 

In this delightful place, which seemed to 
be the seat of unalloyed felicity, the young 


431 


M ons. and Mademoiselle de Clairville, re¬ 
quested their indulgent parents to remain a 
few days, or even weeks, if, which they could 
scarcely doubt, the agreeableness of the abode 
should, on experiment, be found to corres¬ 
pond with what it promised to expectation. 
“ Perhaps/' says the young gentleman, “ we 
have here found the place where Happiness 
resides, and the fascinating descriptions, and 
brilliant ideas of pastoral poets are realized.” 
“ This place,” replied his sister, “ affords at 
least a more flattering prospect than any that 
we have yet visited; and it is possible that 
what we have missed in our search, is fallen 
in our way through accident; at least it is 
expedient to decide the point by accurate in¬ 
vestigation.” M. de Falaise, seconded their 
request, and Mons. and Mad. de Clairville, 
willing to gratify so reasonable a desire, 
readily agreed to the proposal. 

In order to avoid the bustle and incon¬ 
venience of an inn, they hired a small apart¬ 
ment in a farm-house, situated in a hamlet, 
consisting of only two farms, and five or six 
cottages. The hamlet was situated on an 
eminence, in the midst of beautiful fields, and 
surrounded at no great distance with gently 
swelling hills. The landscape on every side 
was variegated with the most beautiful 


432 


scenery, the clumps of trees interspersed 
amons: the meadows, and fields of corn, 
beautified the face of the country, and afford¬ 
ed shelter to numbers of feathered songsters, 
whose undulating notes seemed to render the 
air musical, while roses, violets, and jessa¬ 
mines, perfumed it with their fragrancy : 
every thing that is pleasing seemed here to 
be collected, and every thing that is dis¬ 
agreeable excluded, as if nature had formed, 
and choice selected this situation for the 
abode of tranquillity, contentment, and 
happiness. 

The house, of which they occupied a part, 
was old, very ill contrived, and inconvenient; 
and although their apartment was by far the 
best part of the edifice, it was neither com¬ 
modious nor agreeable. “ I wonder, 55 said 
Mademoiselle de Clairville to the mistress, 
“ that you have not a better house in so fine 
a situation/ 5 “No wonder at all/ 5 replied 
the latter : “ our landlord is a gentleman far 
advanced in years, and he possesses this farm 
only as a life estate. It is, therefore, very 
unlikely that he should sink his money in 
building/ 5 “If the gentleman be of an ad¬ 
vanced age/' said the young lady, “ then, 1 
suppose, you may console yourself with the 
hope that his successor will provide you a 


433 


more comfortable habitation.’ 5 44 A new 

1 ***/€$„11 *, it * r ri 

landlord,” replied the farmer’s wife, 44 may 
probably take such a fancy; but I assure 
vou, we look forward to that event with 

* - , B 3 V- ' - ■ ( 

apprehension rather than hope; for we can¬ 
not expect to have a new house without an 
advancement of rent, in order to pay the 
interest of the money disbursed; and if you 
knew how hard we are put to it to pay the 
present rent, with labourer’s wages, and a 
variety of other demands, and felt the anxiety 
of mind which I and my husband often ex¬ 
perience from the difficulty of raising money 
for these purposes, you would easily perceive 
that we had better be content with our old 
house, even if it was Worse, than to have a 
new one upon such conditions as we have a 
right to expect.” 44 But,” said Mademoiselle 
de Clairville, 44 I should think that a com- 

* ^ ' ‘ i 1 * - • J i t. ■ <1 ’ ' : \ ' 

fortable house, in so charming a situation, 
might be a considerable addition to your 
happiness, and fully compensate the payment 
of a little more rent.” 44 You may think so,” 
said the good w oman, 44 but if you had our 

• ‘ ' - .♦ i 

cards to play, you would soon be of a 
different opinion. The situation is agreeable 
enough, but people in our circumstances 
think little about such things ; we have con- 

2 F 


434 


cerns of greater importance to employ our 
thoughts. A good house would certainly be 
a conveniency, but our first care must be for 
a livelihood. You fine folks, at London, do 
not know how we country people are put to 
it to get a living. Such as you may admire 
a fine situation ; but we have something else 
to think of than such trifles. As soon as one 
payment is made, we must begin to consider 
how money is to be procured for another. If 
you were in our circumstances, you would 
think as we do, that every situation is a fine 
one where a livelihood is to be gotten.” 
They had many other conversations on similar 
subjects, and Mademoiselle de Clairville was 
soon convinced that they should here meet 
with the same disappointment as they had 
done in other places, and that, notwithstand¬ 
ing the beauty of the country, and the 
amenity of the situation, they should not find 
a realization of their ideas of rural felicity. 
In effect, the strangers seldom heard, during 
their residence in this house, any other dis¬ 
course in the family than scolding the servants 
for doing too little work, or for doing it ill; 
the master and mistress frequently asking 
them how they thought their wages were to 
be paid, and if they expected to be kept for 
doing nothing; and the servants, in their 


435 


turn, as loudly complaining against the hard¬ 
ness of their labour, or the poorness of their 
living. 

They soon began to enter into familiarity 
with the cottagers, and by making trifling 
presents to them or their children, gained 
their entire and unreserved confidence. They 
made frequent inquiries concerning their 
circumstances and condition of life, and 
found them far from being desirable, and the 
people far from being satisfied. 44 You must,” 
said Mademoiselle de Clairville, to a young 
married woman, 44 live very comfortably, and 
be very happy in so charming a situation.” 

44 T wonder,” replied the woman, 44 how 
people, who know nothing of the world, can 
imbibe such romantic notions. What is 
situation to us! it is a livelihood that we 
want; we have something else to think of 
than pleasant situations/' 44 But,” said the 
young lady, 44 it must be agreeable to con¬ 
template the beauties of nature, to view the 
distant prospects, or the waving corn in the 
fields opposite to your doors.” 44 Of what 
use,” said the woman, 44 is the prospect of 
corn fields at the doors, if we want bread in 
the house. You fine folks, who come hither 
for a pleasant ramble, little know how hardly % 

2 f 2 


436 


poor people live, who must gain a livelihood 
in the country by their own endeavours.” 

£< Where plenty smiles, alas! she smiles for few.” 

The woman’s husband then took upon 
himself to decide the matter, by an appeal 
to Mademoiselle de Clairville’s understand¬ 
ing and sentimetits. “ You seem,” said he, 
<£ through want of experience or reflection 
to have adopted very wrong notions. We 
work hard, we sweat and toil from morning 
till night, and seldom have an hour that w r e 
can call our own, and with all this, we are 
hard enough put to it to earn a poor living in 
time of health? and if sickness come upon us, 
we must be miserable indeed. In that case, 
there would be nothing for us but the parish 
allowance for our support, which would be 
but small, and granted with many murmers. 
I appeal to your ow n feelings, whether you 
would think it an agreeable business to apply 
to a magistrate in order to induce him to 
oblige your neighbours to grant you an alms, 
and afford you that support which they seldom 
grant willingly, and often not without com¬ 
pulsion ; and yet such, in all probability, must 
be our lot in old age, if our lives be prolonged 
to that period. If we be called from this 


437 


world at an earlier time of life, our children 
will be put out as parish apprentices, and 
even now, if sickness or accident should render 
us unable to support them, that will be the 
case, and instead of seeing their tender years 
employed in acquiring such education as 
might hereafter be useful, we must have the 
mortification of seeing them spent in igno¬ 
rance and drudgery. Put all those circum¬ 
stances together, and then judge whether the 
happiness of us rural swains, as you are pleased 
to call us, be enviable, or our prospects such 
as can afford us any great pleasure.' 3 

Ye gentle souls who dream of rural ease, 

Whom the smooth stream and smoother sonnet please; 

Go if the peaceful cot your praises share, 

Go look within and ask if peace be there. 

If peace be his, that drooping weary sire. 

Or theirs that offspring round their feeble fire; 

Or hers, that matron pale, whose trembling hand 
Turns on the wretched hearth th’ expiring brand? 

i 

The gently swelling hills which arose at the 
distance of a few miles from the hamlet, 
afforded pasture for numerous flocks of sheep, 
which were constantly attended by their 
respective shepherds. One day the young 
M. de Clairville proposed to his sister a 
ramble to the sheep walks. “ We shall there,’ 3 
said he, “ see a specimen of the pastoral life, 
which we have yet only imperfectly observed 

2 f 3 


438 


and examined; and on which the poets, of ail 
ages, have given the most fascinating descrip¬ 
tions.^ The young lady was charmed at the 
proposal, which she herself had already in¬ 
tended to bring forward. 44 I will,” said she, 
44 gladly accompany you thither, and shall 
contemplate, with rapture, that delightful 
state of life, which has so often been held up 
as a pattern of human felicity.’* 

One pleasant morning they set out at an 
early hour, being resolved to spend the whole 
day among the shepherds; and M. and 

* i 

Madame de Clairville, together with M. de 
Falaise, joined in the party. At every step 
they w ere charmed with the melodious singing 
of the lark, the delightful serenity of the air, 
and the beautiful landscapes which the inter¬ 
mixture of hills and dales, corn fields and 
meadows, diversified and embellished with 
the most enchanting variety : and on ascend¬ 
ing the hills, they were surprised and en¬ 
raptured at the view of the extensive prospects 
displayed all around, which were bounded 
only by the horizon, and terminated in the 
confusion of the distant and indistinct azure. 
46 Surely,’* said Mademoiselle de Clairville, 
as they approached towards the shepherds, 
44 these men enjoy all that can render life 
desirable, and all that nature, in the profit- 


439 


&ion of her bounties, can bestow. Here, un¬ 
doubtedly, we shall find the originals from 
which pastoral poets hav e copied their paint¬ 
ings, Here, at last, we shall contemplate a 
state of leisure, tranquillity, contentment, 
and uninterrupted happiness.” 

On their nearer approach, they accosted 
the shepherds, who stared on the strangers 
with an air of stupid vacuity. 44 We have 
taken the liberty,” said the elder M. cle Clair- 
ville, 44 to come hither to witness your happy 
state of life.” 44 Happy!” said one of them, 
with a vulgar sneer, 44 I wonder how such a 
fancy ever came into your head!” 44 I wish/ 5 
said one surly old fellow, 44 that you had as 
much of this kind of happiness as I have had, 
I think you would have been fully satisfied 
before this day.” Another said, 44 you fine 
gentlemen and ladies should not come on 
such a day as this, if you wish to know how 
we shepherds get our living; you should 
come on a cold stormy day, and then you 
would see that we earn our bread in rain, as 
well as in sunshine, and are as often wet and 
cold, as dry and warm/ 5 

They held, for some time, a desultory con¬ 
versation with those pastoral rustics, and 
perceived them to be extremely stupid and 
ignorant, and very little satisfied with their 

2 f 4 


440 


condition. At last one of them, who had not 
jet joined in the conversation, came up and 
accosted the strangers, in a manner that 
evinced a better education, and more know¬ 
ledge of the world than the others possessed. 
“ We are, 5 ’ said M. de Falaise, “ discoursing 
with jour companions on the nature of the 
pastoral life ; but we cannot make them com¬ 
prehend that it includes any such degree of 
happiness as has been attributed to it by 
those who have made this condition the sub¬ 
ject of their contemplation. “ If,” said he, 
“you have formed your notions of it only 
from books, it must be acknowledged that 
those who have acquired theirs from ex¬ 
perience must be more competent judges.” 
“ You,” then said M. de Clairville, “ do not 
think your condition completely happy.” 
“ I am,” said the shepherd, “ perfectly re¬ 
signed to the dispensations of Providence, 
and therefore contented in my situation ; but 
cannot think it a very agreeable one, nor can 
it, upon a fair estimate, be considered as a 
state of comfort and pleasure. Can you 
suppose that felicity consists in living se¬ 
questered from all human society, where we 
seldom enjoy any other company than that of 
our flocks, or hear any other language than 
the bleating of sheep ? we remain, from the 


441 


vising of the sim until dark, exposed to the 
summer’s heat, and the winter’s cold: our 
wages are small, and our living is poor—do 
you call these things the constituents of 
happiness?” 

They soon perceived that they were con¬ 
versing with a man very much superior in 
knowledge to the other shepherds, and who 
seemed by his style of conversation to possess 
a more enlightened understanding than most 
of the country people they had hitherto met 
with, and to him therefore, they chiefly di¬ 
rected their attention, and addressed their 
discourse. lie appeared to be not less com¬ 
municative than intelligent, which induced 
them to consider him as a person well quali¬ 
fied to give them a just and impartial view of 
the pleasures and inconveniences of that state 
of life in which he w as placed. 

The shepherd conducted them to his hut, 
and kindly invited them to partake of his 
homely fare, which, indeed, was not such as 
could impress on their minds a very high 
opinion ofhis condition. They tasted, how¬ 
ever, through complaisance, and then invited 
him to dine with them on the provisions which 
they had brought to regale themselves during 
their excursion. Mutual civilities were pro¬ 
ductive of greater familiarity, and at last 


442 


M. de Falaise said, “ If I am not deceived, sir, 
your conversation and manner of expression 
seem to indicate that you have not always 
been in this situation, and that your educa¬ 
tion and former circumstances once afforded 
you a different prospect.” “ I assure you, 
sir,” answered the shepherd, “ I have seen 
better days, and at one period of my life did 
not think that I should ever experience the 
inconveniences of my present condition; but 
it is the w ill of the Supreme Disposer, and I 
am resigned.” 

The visitors then requested him to favour 
them with a relation of some of the circum¬ 
stances of his life, which had brought him 
into a situation so different from his former 
prospects, and the expectations he had formed 
in his more prosperous days. “ The events 
of my life,” said he, “ however interesting to 
me, can afford you but little entertainment. 
The history of rustic industry will contain 
little that can attract attention, or gratify 
curiosity; mine, however, such as it is, is at 
your service. The narrative will be plain 
and simple, and 1 shall endeavour to make it 
short.” 

“My father,” said he, “was a wealthy 
farmer, at a village a few miles distant from 
this place. He had two sons, of w hom I w as 


443 


the younger, and four daughters. Of the 
latter, one died young, and thus escaped the 
inconveniences and hardships of a trouble¬ 
some world. Another married my father’s 
servant. He was a well-looking man, and a 
good hand at country business; but his 
circumstances were low, and my father being 
averse to the match, would not give him any 
portion with my sister; and whatever you, 
who do not understand these matters, may 
think, a person in the farming business is in 
a poor situation without some property to 
enable him to make his way in the world. 
He wrought hard, however, as a labourer, 
and they lived tolerably well until he had 
the misfortune to be killed by an accident, 
and left my sister a widow, with six small 
children, who must have been put out parish 
apprentices as soon as they were of a tit age, 
had not my father contributed liberally to¬ 
wards their education and maintenance. My 
two other sisters married farmers, and al¬ 
though their farms are high rented, yet, with 
great care and hard labour, they get a decent 
livelihood ; but for this they are obliged to 
work both early and late. My father’s in¬ 
tention was that my brother should succeed 
him in the farm, and as I gave some indica¬ 
tions-of genius, and manifested a strong pro- 


444 


pensity to learning, I was kept at school till 
I had made some proficiency in classical 
literature. My brother dying, my father 
took me from school, as he designed to leave 
me in the occupation of the farm, w hich he 
thought would be more beneficial than any 
thing I was likely to obtain in any other kind 
of employ. 1 remained with him some years, 
and then getting married, took my wife into 
the house, and we all made only one family. 
My mother was old, and my wife was young: 
the former thought the latter dressed too gay, 
and wrought too little; and this produced 
continual altercations between them. My 
mother made frequent complaints to my 
father, as my wife also did to me, and I must 
confess, that among them, 1 had not a very 
agreeable time. 

“ My father happening to die, and my 
mother shortly after, I was left in the entire 
occupation of the farm, and in possession of 
his whole property, except the testamentary 
legacies bequeathed to my sisters. The pe¬ 
cuniary circumstances of the family w ere not, 
however, so affluent as many people had 
imagined. My father had done a great deal 
for my sister, who was left a widow, and had 
also, sometimes, been obliged to help out my 
iw o others who w ere married to farmers, but 


445 


who, being in low circumstances, could not 
have gotten forward if he had not, sometimes, 
afforded them a little assistance. I was, by 
my father’s will, obliged to pay £250 to each 
of my three sisters, which made an aesre^ate 
sum of £ 750, and he had not left any ready 
money to answer those demands ; but as the 
farm was well stocked, and in an excellent 
state of cultivation, I did not doubt of beinff 
able, in a little time, to clear off this en¬ 
cumbrance. In order to attain this desirable 
object, and disentangle our affairs, I and my 
wife adoped a plan of the most rigid econom y. 
We rose early, and went late to rest, and en¬ 
deavoured, by working hard ourselves, to 
lessen the number of our servants, and, con¬ 
sequently, diminish our expences. During 
some time our exertions were attended with 
success, and promised to effect, in a few years, 
the dtsencumbrance of our property; but in 
this world nothing is certain. Our landlord 
having made an advantageous purchase in 
another part of the country, sold the estate 
which he possessed in our village. It was 
purchased by a person who took the w hole 
into his own hands, and both I and my next 
neighbour, who, as well as myself, lived very 
comfortably, and had never expected such a 
change, were in consequence discharged from 


446 


oar farms, and could not fall in for others that 
were likely to afford us a livelihood ; for you 
must know that farms are very didicult to 
procure, unless a person possess a property 
sufficiently great to enable him to undertake 
a large concern.” “ But,” said Mademoiselle 

o 

de Clairville, interrupting him, “ did you 
not think it a hard case to be turned out of 
your farm when you had always been punctu¬ 
al in the payment of your rent.” “ It was a 
very disagreeable circumstance to me, un¬ 
doubtedly,” answered the shepherd, “ but 
I did not see that I had any right to com¬ 
plain. I do not estimate things in an in¬ 
terested, but in an impartial manner. The 
person who had purchased the land, had an 
indisputable right to occupy it if he pleased, 
and 1 could not conscientiously think myself 
injured. I considered the matter, therefore, 
as nothing more than one of those common 
disappointments which are incident to every 
condition of life.” •“ 1 perfectly comprehend 
your reasoning,” said the young lady, “ and 
approve your liberality of sentiment; I beg 
pardon for the liberty I have taken of inter¬ 
rupting your story, and shall esteem the 
continuation of it a favour.” 

41 When I had sold off my stock of corn and 
cattle, my farming utensils, &c.” said the 


447 


shepherd, resuming' his narrative, “ and paid 
the legacies to my sisters, my remaining: 
property amounted to no very great sum, and 
I could not easily resolve upon a plan for the 
future support of my family. This is fre¬ 
quently the case, when a person in business, 
either commercial or agricultural, is thrown 
out of liis accustomed track. His connexions 
with the active world are dissolved, and new 
ones must be formed. His channels of ac¬ 
quisition are stopped, and new ones must be 
explored and opened; and this, to a person 
whose means are limited, and whose efforts 
are checked by the narrowness of his circum¬ 
stances, is generally a difficult, and often a 
hazardous enterprise. Had 1 remained in the 
situation in which 1 was fixed, my pecuniary 
circumstances were fully adequate to the 
management of my business; but f found 
them onlv small when I was launched into 
a new world of speculation. After many 
searches and inquiries, however, 1 met with 
a small farm; indeed, I was not qualified to 
undertake a large one. It was highly rented, 
but I believe, that with a great deal of labour 
and care, I could have made a living, had I 
not been so friendly, or rather so foolish as to 
enter into a bond for my wife’s brother, in 
order to hinder him from becoming a bank- 



448 


rupt. 'This event, however, took place in 
spite of my efforts to prevent it; he was more 
involved than I had imagined, and the effects 
of my friendship or folly, implicated me in 
his misfortune, and reduced me to beggary. 

“ I had now no resource left but daily 
labour. Both I and my w ife, how ever, w ere 
still in the vigorous age of life, and by our 
united endeavours, we made a shift to pro- 
vide necessaries for our family. In this situa¬ 
tion w^e remained twenty years, and had six 
children, whom we supported and brought 
up by sweat and toil, until old age began to 
make its approaches, and I began to feel my 
strength inadequate to the labours and hard¬ 
ships I had cheerfully, or at least patiently, 
undergone while in the bloom of life.” “But,” 
said Madame de Clairville, interrupting him, 
“ you ought not, in your declining years, to 
have wrought so hard as you did while in the 
vigour of your age, and I should not have sup¬ 
posed that any master could be so unreason¬ 
able as to expect or desire it.” “My dear 
Madame,^ replied the shepherd, “ you are 
too little acquainted with the country to 
know the hardships suffered by the lower 
classes of the people, or the manner in which 
agriculture is carried on. No farmer will 
employ a labourer unless he finds him capable 


449 


of performing a clay’s work ; or if he does, 
lie will scarcely allow T him wages sufficient to 
keep him from starving. You may, perhaps, 
think this somewhat hard/* continued he, 
“but you must consider that the expences of 
managing a farm are great, and the success 
hazardous ; and how could a farmer pay 
rents and wages if he did not take care that 
his work is got well forward ? Thus you 
may see that one thing presses upon another, 
and keeps the whole system of working a 
farm continually upon the stretch. Besides 
this, in the business of husbandry, many kinds 
of work must be carried on by a number of 
hands acting in concert; and if any one be 
unable to perform his part, his deficiency is 
an hindrance to the rest, and retards the 
whole operation. I have many times, in such 
cases, been obliged to w ork among men much 
younger, and, consequently stronger and 
more active than myself, and after straining 
every nerve, found myself totally inadequate 
to the task. To be obliged to earn sub¬ 
sistence bv hard labour, in old age, whatever 
it may seem in speculation, is a serious 
calamity in practice.” 

“ Alternate masters now their slave command, 

“ Urge the weak efforts of his feeble hand. 

“ And when his age attempts its task in vain, 

“ With ruthless taunts of lazy poor complain.” 

2 G 


Ckabbe, 


450 


“These considerations induced me to un¬ 
dertake the employment of a shepherd, which, 
although it be a languid scene of dull uni¬ 
formity, requires a less degree of bodily exer¬ 
tion than many other branches of rural 
employment. It is only a poor occupation ; 
but it furnishes the means of supporting life, 
and I am now too far advanced in years to 
undertake any other/ 5 “ And yet/ 5 said 
Mademoiselle de Clairville, “ this is the life 
of which the poets have delineated such en¬ 
chanting pictures ; and which moral writers 
have so often described as a scene of tran¬ 
quillity and happiness. 55 “ These poets and 
moralists, 5 ’ replied the shepherd, “ if they 
had consulted experience, and not romantic 
speculation, would have exhibited very dif¬ 
ferent representations. I have read many of 
their descriptions, especially in my youth, 
for I was naturally addicted to reading and 
contemplation ; but even at that early age, I 
knew too much of country business to con¬ 
sider them as any thing more than the em¬ 
bellishments of composition, calculated merely 
to amuse the imagination. And I take the 
liberty to assure you that I have now toiled 
too long, and sweat too much, to attach any 
importance to those vagaries of fancy. Ex¬ 
perience has taught me to assign them their 


451 


place among that vast collection of nonsense 
with which wise men have amused fools, and 
fools have amused one another, 

44 The annals of my homely life, which 
contain nothing uncommon, nothing but 
what is almost every where exemplified, may 
convince you that the ideas of a rustic con¬ 
dition, and of the happiness of rural nymphs 
and swains, which embellish the pages of 
poetry, have no originals in life; and that 
country people earn their livelihood by more 
serious and painful occupations than 44 mix¬ 
ing in the festive dance, and listening to the 
melody of the lark and the linnet, the black* 
bird and the thrush.” 

The visitors were highly gratified and en¬ 
tertained with the well-related story and 
sagacious reflections of this philosophical and 
eloquent shepherd, whose name might, per¬ 
haps, have been classed among the Lockes or 
the Newtons, had not his genius been buried 
in the obscurity of his station, and its 
activity extinguished by the avocations of 
business, and the want of literary leisure, 
which is incompatible with the hurry and 
bustle of managing a farm, or the constant 
toil of the day labourer. They had listened 
with attention and interest to the plain and 

2 G 2 



452 


simple history of rustic life, unembellished 
with striking vicissitudes or singular events, 
but exhibiting an interesting view of patient 
resignation under the pressure of adverse 
fortune, and of useful industry in an humble 
station ; and their compassion was excited as 
much as their curiosity was gratified by the 
narrative. They made the shepherd a hand¬ 
some present, and returned to their lodgings, 
enjoying the pleasure of a charming even¬ 
ing, indulging themselves in making remarks 
and reflections on the occurrences of the 
day, and highly satisfied with their agreeable 
excursion. 

The next morning the weather proving un¬ 
favourable, and they being weary with the 
walk of the preceding day, did not stir 
abroad, but devoted the hours to social con¬ 
verse on the observations they had made in 
their ramble to the sheep walks. “ I am,’* 
said M. de Clairville to his children, “ in¬ 
clined to imagine that your chimerical ideas 
of the rural life are considerably altered, and 
reduced much nearer to the standard of rea¬ 
son and reality. Your own observations have 
now dissipated the ideal scenes which danced 
before your eyes, and experience has taught 
you that imagination may form pictures 
which have no originals in nature.** 


453 


“ I believe, indeed/' said the younger M. 
de Clairville, “ that both I and my sister 
shall return to town much less prejudiced in 
favour of a country life than we were at 
leaving it, and that our excursion will have 
taught us to ground our notions on reason 
and experience, and not on the vagaries of 
the imagination/' “ For my own part,” 
answ ered Mademoiselle de Clairville, “ I am 
now convinced that the country is far less 
agreeable, and the peasantry less happy than 
1 had imagined. The freely circulating air 
is undoubtedly more salubrious than the 
heavy and contaminated atmosphere of a 
large and populous city, and the landscapes 
more delightful to the eye than a regular 
succession of lanes and streets ; but the un¬ 
polished state of society is a blemish in the 
picture which casts the balance in favour of 
the town.” 

“You have now,” said M. de Falaise, 
“ gratified your curiosity, satisfied your in¬ 
quiries, and rectified your notions. You 
have tried your prepossessions by the touch¬ 
stone of experience ; you have discovered the 
difference between speculative prejudices and 
experimental knowledge, and this discovery 
you will, on many occasions, find useful. 
Experience is the great master of human 

2 G 3 


454 


knowledge. I could have informed you of 
all that you have learnt in your summer’s ex¬ 
cursion, but such information would neither 
have been so satisfactory to you, nor have 
made so deep an impressioq on your minds, 
as the knowledge which results from your 
own observations. When 1 first w ent to com¬ 
mence my ministry in a country parish, I 
was obliged to board in the house of one of 
my parishioners, who occupied a large farm, 
and kept many servants and labourers. Mv 
active curiosity, like yours, prompted me to 
observe every thing relative to the most use¬ 
ful and necessary of all professions, and give 
me leave to assure you, that a twelve months 
residence in a farm-house, will give juster 

notions of a country life than a thousand 

•/ 

volumes of the pastoral poets and moral 
philosophers. 

“ But, permit me, sir,’’ said Mademoiselle 
de Clairville, to ask this question; “ do these 
poetical writers, who delineate such fasci¬ 
nating pictures, suppose that the originals 
really exist. Does the enthusiasm of imagina¬ 
tion overpower the operation of reason so far 
as to make them believe the existence of the 
scenes and the manners which they describe.” 
“ Nothing of the kind,” replied M. deFalaise, 
“ they are no more than mere embellishments 


455 


of composition, calculated to exalt and delight 
the imagination, not to inform the under¬ 
standing, or direct the judgment. Pastoral 
poets well know that the greatest part of 
their brilliant scenery has, like the divinities 
of Paganism, no other existence than in their 
own fancy ; and they describe the innocence, 
the virtue, and happiness of the rural nymphs 
and swains, in the same spirit of agreeable 
fiction, as they invoke Apollo and the muses, 
or occasionally introduce the other gods and 
goddesses of the Pagan mythology. 

Yes, thus the muses sung of happy swains, 

“ Because the muses never knew their pains; 

“ They boast their peasants pipes, but peasants now 

“ Resign their pipes and plod behind the plough.” 

Crabbe. 

44 You have, however, observed,” continued 
M. de Falaise, 44 that many pai ts of the 
country contain elegant seats of the nobility 
and gentry, to which the proprietors some¬ 
times retire for the benefit of relaxation from 
the fatigues of dissipation or business, and 
the bustling tumult of the metropolis. In 
those seats of opulence, politeness and ele¬ 
gance, life is, or may be truly enjoyed in the 
midst of every thing that can render it 
delightful. Polite society may amuse, and 
literary pursuits improve the mind, philoso- 

2 g 4 


45(5 


phical retirement may favour reflection, and 
a pure air invigorates the faculties. To those 
abodes of affluence, you have not, in your 
excursion been introduced, because the object 
of your examination and inquiry was not 
the condition of the great, but that of the 
middle and lower classes, who constitute the 
great mass of the people. Those who have 
their villas, their gardens, their libraries, and 
a multiplicity of other sources of pleasure in 
the country, are, by the affluence of their 
circumstances, able to supply themselves in 
their rural retreats with all the conveniences 
and most of the luxuries of the town. Un¬ 
encumbered with business, and free from 
corroding cares, they can enjoy the sweets of 
tranquillity, and live according to the dictates 
of their own inclination and taste. Their 
country retirement gives them a new relish 
for the bustle and amusements of the metro¬ 
polis, their town residence renders the plea¬ 
sures of the country more inviting, and this 
alternation varies and animates life.’* 

The experience of the youthful observers 
verified the latter part of this remark. They 
returned to the capital, and in perambulating 
its crowded streets, found a pleasure which 
seemed altogether new. They visited the 
different places of amusement; the active 


457 




and animated appearance of the scene around 
them had an exhilarating effect on their 
spirits; they seemed to have emerged from 
the obscurity of solitude into the broad sun¬ 
shine of life, and were experimentally con¬ 
vinced that variety gives a relish to pleasures, 
and charms to existence. 




458 


* 


ESSAY XXIX. 


ON EMIGRATION AND COLONIZATION . 


A taste for emigration has, in one country 
or another, always prevailed, and like all 
other pursuits of human enterprise, has pro¬ 
ceeded from different causes. Mankind are 
naturally desirous of ameliorating their con¬ 
dition, and expect from change of place ad¬ 
vantages of which, in their present situation, 
they find themselves destitute. Some have 
been compelled by want, and others driven by 
oppression to seek new establishments ; and 
many, actuated by the avidity of acquiring 
wealth, leave their native country in quest of 
possessions in a distant clime. All these 
causes, operating at different periods on the 
minds of different persons, considered as one 
extensive combination, are conducive to the 
general advantage of the human species : they 
enlarge the commercial system, extend the 
sphere of human knowledge, and constitute a 
part of the immense and incomprehensible 


459 


plan of Divine Providence. The Sovereign 
Ruler of the Universe has so constituted 
human nature, and arranged human circum¬ 
stances, that mankind should be impelled to 
spread abroad, and bring the different parts 
of the earth into a state of cultivation, in 
order to supply one another with the pro¬ 
ductions of different soils and climates. 

If we contemplate the subject in all its 
relations and consequences, emigration must, 
in respect of individuals, be esteemed an 
arduous and difficult undertaking. It must 
be observed, that by emigration is not here 
understood merely a removal from one civi¬ 
lized and cultivated country to another, 
where the arts of conveniency and luxury 
flourish, and the comforts and pleasures of 
social life abound, but the formation of a 
new and original establishment, by plunging 
into an unknown and uncultivated region, 
where nothing is found ready at hand, but 
every thing convenient or desirable must be 
procured by laborious efforts and persevering 
industry, and where every discovery and im¬ 
provement must be the result of experiment. 
A person launches into a new scene of arduous 
enterprise, with which he is in a great measure 
unacquainted, and must adopt modes of life 
to which his habits are not formed. 


460 


Such an undertaking as is here described, 
is entered on by the greatest part of those 
who emigrate to America. The measure is 
adopted by many, who being entirely un¬ 
acquainted with its nature, and ignorant of 
the difficulties of the enterprise, speedily re¬ 
pent of their precipitancy, and are glad to 
return to Europe, after having expended in 
their American expedition a sum that, with 
frugal management and industry, would have 
supported them comfortably at home.* I 
have known several persons who have un¬ 
advisedly placed themselves in this predica¬ 
ment ; and after having resigned beneficial 
employments or branches of business, w hich 
would have procured them a competent live¬ 
lihood, and tried their fortune beyond the 
Atlantic, have returned strangers to their 
own country, and, with the remains of their 
diminished fortune, have been obliged to 
begin the world again at home, in order to 
procure a moderate subsistence, instead of 
that affluence which they had once imagined 
would rush upon them in the western con¬ 
tinent. 


* This essay was suggested by the intended emigration of above 
forty persons, at one time, from a village with which the author was 
acquainted, and of which the whole population scarcely amounted to 
three hundred and fifty. Whether the emigration took place in the 
full extent at first projected, he is not certain. 


I 




461 


Disappointments of this kind are not to be 
wondered at when so many plunge them¬ 
selves into the difficulties of such an under¬ 
taking, without possessing such information 
as might enable them to make a just estimate 
of the consequences, and to delineate, in their 
mind, the state of the new continent. Misled 
by fancy, or deceived by misrepresentation, 
they form extravagant ideas, and are astonish¬ 
ed when they do not find them realized. 
Many who have been trained up to agri¬ 
culture emigrate across the Atlantic in the 
view of changing their condition of English 
farmers into that of American freeholders, 
and expect to find a country cultivated and 
peopled, fields w aving with corn, and pastures 
abounding with cattle, like the scenes ex¬ 
hibited in the civilized countries of Europe; 
instead of which, they see in the interior 
only a vast extent of uncultivated wilderness, 
composed of woods and swamps, and nearer 
the coast a mixed scene of rude and cultivated 
nature, a country in the infancy of improve¬ 
ment, houses and farms interspersed among 
tracts of uncleared land, with incommodious 
roads, and difficult communication. 

No person who has perused the various 
descriptions of the American continent, pub¬ 
lished by persons who have traversed its ex- 



402 

V 

tensive regions, can be ignorant that this 
must be the case, and, indeed, the least re¬ 
flection might convince any one that such 
must be the aspect of every country in the 
infancy of colonization. But these descrip¬ 
tions are not read with a proper degree of 
attention to the subject: the objects which 
they display are superficially viewed, and 
make no impression ; and thus imagination 
forms an erroneous idea of transatlantic scenes. 
This is very commonly the fault of those who 
emigrate to the new continent, and it is no 
wonder that absurd expectations should meet 
with disappointment. 

To exhibit to the mind a just picture of 
the state of an uncultivated country, such as 
the back settlements of America, a person 
should have observed and maturely consider- 
cd the effects of cultivation and drainage, 
and should represent to his imagination what 
would have been the state of those beautiful 
and fertile countries of Europe, which he 
sees so highly embellished by the hand of 
industry, if they had yet remained without 
the improvements of agriculture. Imagina¬ 
tion may easily figure to itself the dreary 
aspect which every country of Europe would 
at this day exhibit, if the axe had not cut 
down the woods with which it was once 


463 


covered, and if drains and ditches had not 
facilitated the running off of the waters, 
which stagnating on the ground in every 
hollow, and converting almost every valley 
into an impassable and noxious morass, emit¬ 
ting insalubrious exhalations, and inter¬ 
cepting the communication between one place 
and another, would have rendered the finest 
situations unpleasant, unhealthful, and almost 
inaccessible. 

A little reflection on the subject is sufficient 
to convince every person of what he must 
expect to meet with in a country thinly 
peopled, and but partially cultivated. It is 
only through the neglect of a proper atten¬ 
tion to these circumstances, that many who 
emigrate to America, find their hopes so 
much disappointed. They do not delineate 
in their minds a just representation; and when 
they see themselves launched into the im¬ 
mense wilds of the American continent, and 
find the scenery so very dissimilar to the 
ideas which they had formed, or which re¬ 
main impressed on their mind by the con¬ 
templation of the beauties of the country 
they had left, they immediately take a dis¬ 
like to their situation, and begin to think 
of returning, after so much trouble and 




404 


expence, which might have been spared if 
they had sooner taken these circumstances 
into consideration. 

Emigration to America can suit only per¬ 
sons of a particular description. Commercial 
persons can scarcely expect to meet with 
more favourable opportunities in the new 
than in the old world, and the same observa¬ 
tion is applicable to manufacturers and me¬ 
chanics. If these classes of people find any 
trifling advantages in the new continent, they 
will be more than counterbalanced by a 
variety of inconveniences, and will be far 
from compensating the disagreeable circum¬ 
stance of relinquishing their country, and 
living in a state of exile. Husbandmen are 
certainly the persons to whom America 
affords the fairest prospect of bettering their 
fortune. 

it is, however, only to husbandmen of a 
particular description that this prospect is 
held out. The farmer, who being discharged 
from one farm cannot, on account of the 
smallness of his capital or other accidental 

circumstances, suit himself with another, 

• 

may, perhaps, ameliorate his condition by 
emigrating to the new world, especially if he 
has a growing family, and particularly several 


465 


sons for whom he wishes to provide. But 
the opulent farmer, who is capable of under¬ 
taking a large agricultural concern, may 
gain as much by renting a farm of a consider¬ 
able extent in England, as by clearing and 
cultivating an estate of his own in America, 
if the small quantity and low value of its 
produce be considered, and every circum¬ 
stance be justly estimated and fairly balanced. 

A person whose pecuniary circumstances 
enable him to live in affluence, or even furnish 
a comfortable competency, who delights in 
agreeable society, in the assemblies of the 
gay, or the company of the learned, would 
make an exceedingly preposterous choice in 
leaving the social circles of populous and 
polished Europe, to plunge himself into the 
woods and wildernesses of America. He 
would not find the rural scenes of Fenesee or 
Kentucky to resemble those of Italy, France, 
or Great Britain; nor enjoy the salubrity of 
Europe in the humid atmosphere of the new' 
continent. 

If a person settle in or near any of the large 
towns in America, he will meet with most of 
the conveniences which he enjoyed, and the 
inconveniences of which he complained in 
Europe; and find himself situated ther? 
nearly iri the same manner as in the large 

t' 

2H 


/ 

466 

provincial towns of Great Britain. If li£ 
settle in the interior, he will experience all 
the inconveniences of bad roads and difficult 
communication, which reduce very much the 
value of produce by the expence of con¬ 
veyance, and be almost secluded from society 
by the difficulty of intercourse, and the thin¬ 
ness of population. 

The effects of the climate, so very different 
from that of Great Britain, and many other 
parts of Europe, constitute an object of con¬ 
sideration of equal importance to the rich 
and the poor. It would be unreasonable to 
suppose that a country of so vast an extent, 
and of which so great a part remains in a 
desert state, can have as salubrious an at¬ 
mosphere as a country in the highest state of 
cultivation. The summers are much hotter, 
and the winters much colder in America than 
in England, or indeed in any country of 
Europe situated under the same parallels. 
The immense forests impede the circulation 
of the air; the woods, which keep the ground 
always damp with the great quantity of leaves 
and other rubbish rotting on the surface, 
emit noxious exhalations; and the atmosphere 
is rendered still more insalubrious by the 
damp vapours arising from swampy ground 
and stagnant waters, as it is the case in all 


467 


Uncultivated countries which may be ao 
counted salubrious or unwholesome, in com¬ 
parison with one another, but are all un¬ 
favourable to health when compared with 
those that are well drained and cultivated. 

One particular circumstance of singular 

importance ought to be taken into serious 

consideration by those who form a design of 

emigrating to America, and settling in that 

continent. Those who take this step ought 

to consider that they must act not so much 

•> 

with a view to their ow n interests as to those 
of posterity. The life of man is too short to 
allow sufficient time to form a settlement in 
an uncultivated country, and afterwards to 
enjoy it long enough to compensate the 
trouble, the care, and all the difficulties 
necessarily attending such an undertaking. 
It is evident that this must be the case, unless 
a man be very young w hen he engages in the 
enterprise ; for if a person, who is advancing 
towards the middle period of life, under¬ 
take to clear and bring into cultivation an 
American estate, he will find the best part of 
his life consumed, his vigour exhausted, and 
the infirmities of age fast approaching before 
he can reap any benefit from his labours. 
Every man, who goes from Europe to form a 
new settlement in America, ought to resolve 

2 H 2 


468 


upon sacrificing the happiness of his own life, 
and all his enjoyments to the interests of his 
descendants. Without this view to posterity, 
perhaps a very small number of those who 
emigrate to the new continent, will, in re¬ 
gard to themselves, be able to find con¬ 
veniences and comforts sufficient to compen¬ 
sate the loss of those which they leave behind. 
If they proceeded on authentic information, 
and reflected seriously on the difficulties of 
the undertaking, their expectations would 
be less sanguine, and they would scarcely 
see in the prospect any thing that could 
counterbalance the disagreeable circumstance 
of expatriation. 


469 


ESSAY XXX. 


ON THE ADVANTAGES RESULTING FROM THE 

USE OF LETTERS • 

Of all the efforts of genius, the discovery 
of the means of communicating thoughts, 
and especially of rendering them permanent, 
must certainly be ranked in the most dis¬ 
tinguished class, as exhibiting, in the most 
striking and luminous view, the stupendous 
powers of the human intellect. Letters are 
the only means of giving permanency to our 
ideas, and the most effectual that can be used 
for their communication. The effects of the 
most eloquent oratory are transient unless 
committed to writing ; the mind is hurried 
from period to period with unceasing rapidity, 
and often, without having leisure to reflect 
on what has been explained in one part of 
the discourse, is precipitated into another, 
and attracted by a different subject. The 
rapidity of speech, the slowness of hearing, 
or the dulness of comprehension, the least 
obscurity in the speaker, or inattention of 
the hearer, is sufficient to defeat the intention 

2 h 3 


I 


470 

of both; the former fails in his design of 
conveying, and the latter in that of receiving 
instruction. 

These inconveniences are obviated by 
literary composition. When the thoughts 
are committed to writing, they may be re¬ 
peatedly considered and examined at leisure. 
That which does not make a sufficient im¬ 
pression at the first reading, may have, at the 
second, a different effect: the connexions may 
be traced, the dependencies of one part on 
another discovered, the arguments contrasted 
and balanced, and the mind, fatigued by 
application, or distracted by inattention, 
may, as often as it pleases, dismiss and again 
resume the subject. Instruction is more 
effectually communicated through the eye 
than the ear, makes a deeper and more durable 
impression on the mind, and is, with greater 
facility, retained in the memory. 

But of all the advantages resulting from 
the communication of our thoughts through 
the medium of writing, none are equal to 
those of extension and permanency. In this 
respect the effects of composition infinitely 
surpass those of verbal oratory. The most 
eloquent orator can have access to the ears 
of only a small number of auditors : how 
important soever the subject may be, or how 


471 


perfectly soever the oration may be heard and 
understood by the audience, the eloquence of 
the speaker, and the justness of his reasoning 
can operate on the passions, or enlighten the 
minds ot only the small number of individuals 
that compose the surrounding circle. If, on 
the contrary, a discourse be committed to 
writing, the extent of its circulation, and 
consequently of its effects, is incalculable. 
The eloquence of the writer may delight the 
mind, and the justness of his reasoning illu¬ 
minate and convince the understanding of 
persons far remote, and of generations yet 
unborn. By this means have all the great 
discoveries and sublime productions of human 
genius been communicated from one nation 
to another, and with successive improvements 
transmitted from generation to generation. 
The scientific and literary acquirements of 
the ancients are thus become the property of 
the moderns. They still live in their literary 
labours; their thoughts exist in their writings, 
and after the lapse of above two thousand 
years, we enjoy their conversation, and are 
enlightened by their instructions. The know¬ 
ledge of the preceding is thus the founda¬ 
tion of that of the present century, which 
still improved and extended, will illuminate 
posterity. 

2 ii 4 


472 


The invention of letters, to express the 
operations of the mind, and the perfection of 
that invention by the art of printing, are the 
two most remarkable and dignified circum¬ 
stances in the history of the human intellect, 
and excite the most exalted idea of the sub¬ 
limity of the genius of man, and of the com¬ 
plicated, extensive, and wonderful operations 
of his intellectual powers. Without letters, 
reason would have been almost an useless gift, 
and the thoughts of the wisest men would 
have been smothered in their own breasts, or 
communicated to only a few individuals, who 
might have had the opportunity of enjoying 
their conversation, with very limited means 
of retaining in memory the information re¬ 
ceived from such intercourse. By the in¬ 
vention of letters, memory is eased, and the 
mind can, through the medium of the eye, 
retrace to its recollection those things of which 
it had lost the retention. 

This image of the voice did man invent, 

To make thought lasting, reason permanent. 

At what period, or by what sublime genius, 
letters, the universal vehicle of human know¬ 
ledge, which forms a chain of communication 
that connects all nations, and all ages, were - 
originally invented, it cannot be expected 


473 


that history should inform us; for it is 
evident from the nature of the ease, that the 
characters used in writing, were necessarily 
prior to all historical records. Some ascribe 
the invention to Cadmus, about A. A. C. 
1493, but it is almost demonstrable that he 
was not the inventor, and that he only in¬ 
troduced the Egyptian letters from Phoenicia 
into Greece. Others ascribe it to Moses, but 
it is more probable that the use of letters in 
Egypt was prior to the time of Moses and 
Cadmus, who are supposed to have been 
cotemporaries. 

The most general opinion of the learned, 
and indeed, from many circumstances of 
antiquity, the most probable is, that Egypt 
was the country in which letters were first 
invented. It is by some thought doubtful, 
whether the arts of civilized life were first 
cultivated in Egypt or Assyria. It is indeed, 
not improbable, that legislature and civil 
polity might be first instituted at Babylon, 
where the first monarchy appears to have 
been established, and yet Egypt may, per¬ 
haps, have taken the lead in the arts which 
embellish the human mind, and promote 
general knowledge; at least we have au¬ 
thentic documents which show that the 
Egyptians had made a considerable progress 


474 


I 


in science and literature at a very early period, 
and long before we have any accurate account 
of their state among the Chaldeans. 

Hieroglyphics were the characters first in¬ 
vented by the Egyptian priests, in order to 
transmit their knowledge to posterity. As 
they constituted a distinct tribe, in which 
almost all the honours and dignities of the 
state were concentrated, and together with 
the sacerdotal office were perpetuated in 
hereditary descent, it was an important part 
of their system to transmit to their descend¬ 
ants the knowledge of their philosophy and 
mythology, which so powerfully contributed 
to preserve their influence over both the 
Princes and the people, and constituted a 
part of their powerful and splendid patri¬ 
monial inheritance. For this purpose they 
had recourse to symbolic representation, and 
invented their celebrated hieroglyphics, em¬ 
blems of their ideas understood only by them¬ 
selves; and the means of understanding them 
were transmitted only to their own posterity. 

At whatever period the invention of letters 
superseded the use of hieroglyphics, they 
were applied solely to the communication and 
explanation of their philosophical and mytho¬ 
logical ideas, and the use of them was appro¬ 
priated solely to the priests, w ho w ere, un- 



475 


doubtedly, the original inventors. The first 
written language, therefore, of Egypt, and 
probably of the world, was an explanation of 
their mystical emblems, which afforded them 
an easier method of unfolding and trans¬ 
mitting to their descendants the knowledge 
of their religion and philosophy, than could 
be attained by the use of hieroglyphics, while 
it was still perfectly consistent with their 
grand object, the concealment of their mytho¬ 
logical system from the eyes of the people 
under the awful veil of mysterious obscurity. 
This language, which is properly denomi¬ 
nated hieroglyphical, was known only to the 
sacerdotal order, and the knowledge of it 
was never communicated to the public. In 
process of time, however, the use of letters, 
after many alterations and improvements, 
became generally diffused, and rapidly com¬ 
municated from one nation to another. The 
Israelites brought them from Egypt, and the 
period when most of the ancient nations first 
learned the use of them, appears to be thrown 
back so far into the shades of antiquity as to 
lie beyond the reach of historical inquiry. 

When the use of letters became generally 
known, the common written language of the 
Egyptians was very different from the hiero¬ 
glyphical language appropriated to their 


476 


religion and philosophy, which always re¬ 
mained a secret with the priests, so careful 
w ere they that the people should know nothing 
relative to these affairs, but only so much as 
they pleased to communicate. Many of the 
monuments of the ancient literature of Egypt 
had been destroyed by the conquests of that 
country, first by the Babylonians, under 
Nebuchadnezzar, and afterwards by the 
Persians, under Cambyses; but it does not 
appear that its subjugation by Alexander had, 
in this respect, been attended with any de¬ 
structive effects, as it was easily accomplish¬ 
ed, and was not opposed by the priests, or 
any of the native Egyptians, who regarded 
him less as an enemy than as a deliverer from 
the Persian yoke. All the books composed 
in the hieroglyphical or sacred language, that 
had escaped the w reck of ancient Egyptian 
learning, and could be found, were collected 
by that celebrated patron and promoter of 
science and literature, Ptolemy Philadelphus, 
the second Prince of the Grecian dynasty, 
and placed in his famous library at Alexan¬ 
dria. Of these, part were most probably 
destroyed by the conflagration which happen¬ 
ed when Caesar rendered himself master of 
that city, and the rest totally disappeared 
w hen it was captured by Amrou, the lieuten- 


477 


ant ot the Caliph Omar. The story of the 
burning ol the celebrated Alexandrian library 
by that conqueror is universally known, and 
generally believed, although disputed on 
good grounds by some of the best critics ; 
but, it in part true, it is most certainly ex¬ 
aggerated. This, however, without stopping 
to ascertain the truth, or explode the false¬ 
hood of the relation of Abulpharagius, is a 
certain and well-known fact, that since the 
conquest of Egypt, by the Saracens, this 
famous library has no more been heard of. 
It seems, however, that the knowledge of the 
hieroglyphical language had long been lost ; 
for Ammiamus Marcellimus, who lived in the 
time of the Emperor Julian, says, that in his 
days, the hierogliphical books were entirely 
unintelligible to the Roman literati . 

After these concise remarks on the original 
invention of letters, and on their introduction 
into general use, it is impossible not to ob¬ 
serve, that if this expedient had not been 
discovered by human sagacity, man must 
have remained in a state of almost absolute 
barbarism ; for w hatever knowledge might, 
w ithout the assistance of literature, have been 
acquired by any individual, it must have ex¬ 
pired with him ; or if any traditional know ¬ 
ledge of the arts or sciences, invented by 



478 


persons of an extraordinary genius, had been 
communicated to the world, and transmitted 
to posterity, it could neither have been far 
extended, nor have long survived the inven¬ 
tors, but must soon have been obliterated, 
as the original notions of the first men were 
soon obscured after their dispersion into dif¬ 
ferent parts of the earth. The moderns 
would have had no knowledge of the ancient 
world : former ages w ould have been buried 
in eternal oblivion; and the human mind 
would have been overclouded with perpetual 
ignorance, and immersed in the gloom of im-> 
penetrable obscurity. 

These formidable inconveniences, and the 
darkness w hich would to this day have sur¬ 
rounded the mind of man, and presented an 
insurmountable obstacle to all his intellectual 
efforts, are happily removed by the invention 
of letters, which, by giving permanency to 
thought, and rendering ideas more durable 
than brass or marble, accumulate, concen¬ 
trate, and display the collective wisdom of 
every age, and of every people. How much 
ought we to revere those sages, whose in¬ 
ventive genius and comprehensive minds have 
conferred those inestimable benefits on the 
human species ! What are the exploits of 
conquerors wheri compared with the efforts 


479 


of those great minds ? But above all, how 
much ought we to admire and adore that 
infinite goodness, combined with infinite 
wisdom, which has given to man such asto¬ 
nishing powers, such sublimity of genius and 
comprehensiveness of thought. The most 
simple and least exercised mind may perceive 
that admirable order, the magnificent result 
of the plan of sovereign wisdom, which 
pervades every part of the creation as far as 
his observations extend ; while the philoso¬ 
pher must find his admiration continually 
excited in contemplating the complexities 
and multiplied relations of the immense 
system, and feel himself irresistibly impelled 
to adore the infinite perfections of that being, 
who, by a grand combination of wisdom, 
power, and goodness, has established so 
wonderful a connexion between the material 
and the intellectual world. 


480 


ESSAY XXXI. 


ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF LANGUAGE AND 
THE DIVERSITY OF STYLE . 


AlS the contexture of the human mind ad¬ 
mits of various shades of difference in its 
original formation, and is susceptible of 
various modifications from external circum¬ 
stances, the style of literary composition will 
also be tinctured with the same variety ; and 
different modes of thinking will naturally 
be productive of different modes of ex¬ 
pression. Style being the express image of 
thought, must therefore be susceptible of an 
infinity of variations, as it exhibits the pic¬ 
ture of different minds, agitated by different 
passions, affected by different feelings, fur¬ 
nished with different images, and influenced 
by various modes of education or habits of 
life, and an incalculable multiplicity of ex¬ 
ternal and adventitious circumstances. The 
same variety is observed in oral language as 
in composition; and persons of each particular 


481 


class of* society have a mode of expression, 
in many respects* peculiar to their own 
fraternity. Those who are engaged in the 
same pursuits, and have fixed their attention 
on the same objects and events, make use of 
the same allusions and illustrations, and thus 
adopt a phraseology appropriated to their 
modes of thinking, and adapted to exhibit a 
picture of their minds. 

The same difference of style and expression 
is likewise perceptible in the literary com* 
positions of different nations, and more 
especially between the writings of the ancients 
and those of the moderns. Among the na¬ 
tions of antiquity, a number of establishments 
existed of which we do not at this day per¬ 
fectly know the nature and extent, a variety 
of customs of which we are totally ignorant, 
and a multiplicity of current opinions and 
general modes of thinking of which we can 
neither investigate the source nor calculate 
the influence; and our ignorance, in many • 
of these respects, is the cause of that obscurity 
which we find in many passages of the ancient 
writers. Those parts of their works, which 
we call obscure, were sufficiently clear at the 
time when they were written, and perfectly 
intelligible to those for whose perusal they 

2 i 


482 


were originally intended, although they now 
puzzle the learning of critics and commenta¬ 
tors. 

Ideas are excited and impressed on the 
mind by an infinity of different objects, and 
the greater part of them being inculcated by 
the adventitious and changeable circum¬ 
stances of general systems and established 
customs, vary with their variations, and are 
obliterated by their abolition. 'W hen general 
ideas and current opinions are effaced by the 
extinction of the causes from which they de¬ 
rived their origin, the words and phrases 
used to express them become unintelligible ; 
and the obscurity, of which we complain, 
exists less in the language than in our own 
incapacity of delineating a picture of the 
mind of the writer as modified by the circum¬ 
stances of the age and country in which he 
lived. 

Language was, undoubtedly, in its original 
formation, rude and imperfect, its terms few' 
in number, and their meaning, until fixed 
by use, equivocal and indefinite. As words 
were invented to represent images impressed 
on the mind by the appearance of things, 
and communicated through the medium of 
the senses when men began to speak, the 
extent of their language would be deter- 


483 


mined by that of their observations, and the 
variety of its terms limited by the num¬ 
ber of objects which came under their in¬ 
spection, or in any manner excited their 
sensations. 

If one were called upon to exhibit a con¬ 
jecture on the gradual formation of language, 
it would not be unreasonable to imagine that 
the substantive was the part of speech first 
used. The view of different objects would 
immediately induce men to give them names 
in order to distinguish one kind from another; 
and the necessity of expressing action, or 
suffering, whether corporeal or mental, would, 
in the next place, give birth to the verb. It 
» w ould soon be perceived that objects of the 
same kind were distinguished by different 
degrees of size, beauty, strength, &c. and this 
consideration would induce the observers to 
invent the words called adjectives, in order 
to denote those discriminating qualities. The 
different modifications of thought and action 
would, in like manner, suggest the necessity 
of adopting some method of expressing these 
distinctions, and this would naturally give 
rise to the adverb, which perforins the same 
auxiliary office to the verb as the adjective 
does to the noun. The preposition would 
probably come next in order, as it would 

O I o 


484 


soon be found necessary to distinguish and 
express the various relations of time, place, &c. 
which things have to one another ; and the 
mind could not long have exercised its think¬ 
ing powers before the tedious repetitions of 
the name of the same thing would suggest 
the substitution of pronouns. It is reason¬ 
able to suppose that language had been some 
time established, and that the human mind, 
by progressive improvement, had discovered 
the utility of just and elegant connexion and 
distinction, in expressing its ideas and re¬ 
flections before the use of the article and the 
conjunction was introduced. The inter¬ 
jection is no more than the simple expression 
of some affection of the mind, and is un¬ 
connected with the texture of language, as it 
is, in a great measure, independent of the 
exercise of the intellectual powers. 

In proportion as the human mind advanced 
in improvement, and the sphere of its know¬ 
ledge became more extended by its ac¬ 
quaintance with a greater diversity of objects 
and the exercise of its thinking powers, in 
contemplating their multiplied relations, con¬ 
nexions, and dependencies, language would 
be improved and extended, and its modes of 
expression diversified. The establishment 
of political and religious systems, the in- 


485 


vention of arts and sciences, the introduction . 
of commerce, the study of philosophy, would 
all contribute to the formation of new ideas, 
and the adoption of new terms to express the 
multiplied operations of intellect. 

Amidst the accumulated and continually 
increasing mass of human improvements, it 
would soon be perceived that the positive 
terms of language were very inadequate to 
the expression of the infinite variety of 
mental operation. It was then found neces¬ 
sary to have recourse to similes, metaphors, 
and all the variety of figurative expression, in 
order to make the improvement of language 
keep pace, as much as possible, with the 
combinations of ideas, and the modifications 
of thought. The various circumstances of 
the political, religious, or civil institutions 
and general customs of their respective 
countries, as well as the appearances of na¬ 
ture, furnished writers with a number of 
allusions and illustrations easily intelligible, 
and even familiar to the minds of their 
countrymen and cotemporaries, but unin¬ 
telligible to the literati of after ages, when 
lapse of time and successive revolutions have 
overturned the empires and states of the 
ancient world, annihilated their establish* 

2 i 3 


486 


ments, obliterated their customs, and buried 
their languages in the libraries of anti¬ 
quarians. 

The obscurity discoverable in many parts 
of the sacred writings, may, perhaps, in some 
measure, be attributed to the sublimity of 
the subjects of which they treat, but it is 
principally owing to their great antiquity. 
The books of the scripture were originally 
addressed to men whose customs, ideas, and 
intellectual modifications were very different 
from ours. Their ideas, in many respects, 
were excited by objects of which we have but 
little knowledge, and their manner of think¬ 
ing and speaking modelled by circumstances 
with which we are unacquainted ; and if 
their modes of expression appear to us difficult 
to understand, ours would be equally obscure 
to them were they now in existence. If an 
ancient Israelite, Egyptian, or Babylonian 
were now alive, and had studied any of the 
languages of modern Europe, he w ould find 
in them the same difficulties that we meet 
with in the sacred writings. It would 
be a similar effect produced by a similar 
cause. Such an one would find something 

more to do than merely to learn the words of 

•/ 

an European language. lie would see the 
necessity of being perfectly acquainted with 


487 


the political and religious systems, customs, 
and general ideas of modern Europe before 
he could fully understand the illustrations 
and allusions made use of by European 
writers. 

Nothing can more fully elucidate this 
matter than the difficulty which all savages 
find in learning the language of a civilized 
country; and the remark may, although in a 
less degree, be extended to all illiterate 
persons. Those who are wholly destitute of 
the knowledge of letters, have few ideas in 
comparison of persons of a liberal education 
and extensive reading. The sphere of indi¬ 
vidual observation is generally confined with¬ 
in narrow limits, and however extended, 
reaches little further than the objects of sense. 
The complex ideas of abstract speculation 
arising from political and religious establish¬ 
ments, with all their various appendages, can 
be communicated to the mind only through 
the medium of words; for the productive in¬ 
fluence of language and ideas operates with 
uniform reciprocity. 

A Frenchman, an Englishman, an Italian, 
or any other European, who has been liberally 
educated, and possesses a competent know¬ 
ledge of the literature of his own country, 

will easily learn any European language; 

2 i 4 


488 


because the political, religious, and social 
ideas of all Europeans are radically the same, 
however diversified by an infinite variety of 
different shades of colouring; but if an 
Englishman or a Frenchman should study the 
Chinese or the Hindoo language, he would 
find a difficulty which he would not, perhaps, 
at first expect. Such an one would un¬ 
doubtedly acquire, perhaps, with tolerable 
facility the knowledge of those languages so 
far as they related to objects of sense, and 
the topics of common conversation ; but 
before he could perfectly understand the 

literary compositions of their writers, and 

■ 

comprehend their allusions, illustrations, and 
various figurative expressions, he would find 
himself under a necessity of extending his 
inquiries beyond the vocabulary of their 
language. He would soon perceive it to be 
requisite to acquire a knowledge of the po¬ 
litical and religious systems, social habits, 
and established customs of the Hindoos or 
the Chinese, to examine the general ideas 
and current opinions resulting from the com¬ 
plex assemblage, and to contemplate the 
picture of a mind modified by these circum¬ 
stances before he could perfectly comprehend 
the style and expressions of an author who 
w rites under their influence. 


489 


1 he human mind, in its uncultivated state, 
can acquire only a very small stock of ideas, 
and, consequently, one who is unacquainted 
with the institutions of society has a two-fold 
task to perform in learning the language of 
a civilized people. He must form new ideas 
as well as study a new vocabulary, and this 
constitutes the grand difficulty which savages 
have ever experienced in learning an Euro¬ 
pean language. The two natives of Otaheite, 
who were brought, one to London and the 
other to Paris, although neither of them ap¬ 
peared deficient in natural abilities, made, 
during a long resklence in the capitals of 
England and France, a very inconsiderable 
progress in the acquisition of the French and 
English languages. This remarkable slow¬ 
ness in learning European languages pro¬ 
ceeded from their ignorance of European in¬ 
stitutions, and of the modification of civilized 
society. Unacquainted with the social system 
of Europe, they could not learn the language 
until they had acquired the ideas of Eu¬ 
ropeans ; and this could not be accomplished 
until they became acquainted with the po¬ 
litical, religious, civil, and military establish¬ 
ments of this quarter of the globe, with their 
various relations, connexions, and depen¬ 
dencies, the variety of offices which constitute 


# 


I 


400 

their appendages, and the multifarious duties 
to which they give rise. These savages, ac¬ 
customed to habits of life, but little removed 
from a state of simple nature, had scarcely 
any ideas except such as had been impressed 
on their minds by the most common and 
familiar objects of sense ; and equally unac¬ 
quainted with the intricacies of politics, the 
mysteries of religion, the principles of legis¬ 
lature, the complexity of commerce, the 
refinements of art, the conveniences and luxu¬ 
ries, the habits and intercourse of civilized 
life, and the whole mechanism of European 
society, they were totally destitute of the in¬ 
tellectual perceptionsarising from this assem¬ 
blage of novel circumstances, of which they 
had never imagined the existence. It is not, 
therefore, a matter of astonishment that their 
progress in learning the languages of England 
and France should have been exceedingly 
slow, since they had entered into a new state 
of being, and had a new world of ideas to 
create. This exemplifies, in the most lu¬ 
minous manner, the reciprocal influence of 
language and ideas. The case of these two 
Otaheitans in London and Paris, would, in 
some measure, be that of an Englishman or 
a Frenchman in the oriental regions of Asia, 
although in a less perceptible degree, because 


i 


401 


these peregrinators would carry with them a 
copious stock of original ideas, of which the 
combinations might be adapted to various 
modes of society. These considerations 
evidently show the principal source of those 
difficulties which occur in the application of 
modern literature to the explication of ancient 
languages. 

This obvious and important remark may 
be made in regard both to the scriptures and 
other ancient compositions, that where allu¬ 
sions are made to moral ideas or to the 
scenery of nature, they are entirely free from 
obscurity. The images excited in the mind 
by the magnificent spectacle of the creation, 
or by our reflections on simple and well- 
known moral subjects, are of a permanent 
nature, and universally understood among 
the civilized part of mankind in all ages ; 
but those ideas, which originate from estab¬ 
lished systems, prevalent customs, and all the 
other modifications of society, vary with the 
variations of those circumstances, follow them 
in their revolutions, and are obliterated by 
their extinction. 

Among the moderns, especially among 
those of the same nation, the diversity of 
Style, although less marked, is, notwithstand¬ 
ing, distinguishable by reason of the different 


492 


manner which different men have of thinking 
and of expressing their thoughts. Besides 
this, different subjects require a different 
style, and one language is scarcely more 
different from another in regard to its phrase¬ 
ology than the style of the historian is from 
that of the orator. The style of narration 
ought to be clear, plain, and simple, but at 
the same time manly and elevated. Perspi¬ 
cuity and force are the principal beauties of 
argumentative composition, and not less 
essential to the disputant than veracity to 
the historian. The different affections of the 
mind require to be differently expressed; and 
a discourse intended for the purpose of ex¬ 
citing the passions, or affecting the imagina¬ 
tion, must differ very much from one that is 
designed to inform and enlighten the under¬ 
standing. The former should be brilliant, 
energetic, and impressive; every consideration 
that can touch the feelings, and excite sym¬ 
pathy or aversion, love or hatred, desire or 
abhorrence, applause or contempt, indigna¬ 
tion or pity, joy or grief, ought to be pre¬ 
sented to the mind with the most dazzling 
amplification : some things must be exagge¬ 
rated and others extenuated, and all directed 
and adapted in the most appropriate manner 
to the passions, the circumstances, and the 


493 


interests of those to whom the discourse is 
addressed. The latter ought to be clear, 
perfectly intelligible, without exaggeration 
or diminution; every object should be ex¬ 
hibited in the clearest light, painted in its 
proper colours, and placed in the most con¬ 
spicuous point of view, and every circum¬ 
stance with which it is connected brought 
forward to distinct inspection: nothing ought 
to be aggravated or extenuated, but causes 
and consequences, motives and actions, means 
and ends should be accurately and impartially 
investigated, and arguments nicely compared 
and justly balanced. By the former method, 
the orators of Rome ruled with despotic 
sway over a people who thought themselves 
free while they were slaves to the interests 
and ambition of their leaders, and dazzled 
with their eloquence, fought and bled, and 
subjugated the world for their emolument: 
by the latter the philosophers of Athens 
instructed their pupils, illuminated posterity, 
and disseminated literature and science among 
mankind. 


494 


. 

ESSAY XXXII. 

OX THE FREQUENT ABSURDITY OF HUMAN 

PRAYERS . 

Reason and religion equally instruct and 
incite us to offer up our praises to the eternal 
source of all good for the favours which we, 
without any merit or claim, have received; 
and it is equally our duty and our interest 
to conciliate, by our fervent prayers, the 
benevolence of the Almighty Disposer of all. 
To offer up an acceptable homage to the 
Sovereign of the Universe, our prayers and 
praises must, however, not only proceed from 
the unfeigned sincerity of the heart, but 
also be regulated by a right use of the under¬ 
standing. 

Human prayers and human wishes will, it 
is to be apprehended, often be found, upon 
examination, nugatory and • puerile, and 
sometimes absurd and wicked. Men are too 
much inclined to imagine the Deity to be a 
changeable and capricious being like them¬ 
selves, and ready to grant their petitions by 


495 


a miraculous interposition in their favour, 
Sound philosophy, however, explodes, and 
rational religion condemns such notions: to 
superstition and ignorance alone they owe 
their existence and nourishment. 

To a person on travel a fine season is ex¬ 
ceedingly agreeable, his business may require 
expedition, and rain or bad roads may frus¬ 
trate the success of his undertaking. It 
would, however, be not only absurd but 
flagrantly presumptuous to imagine that the 
Creator and Governor of the world would 
change the immutable laws of nature, because 
fair weather might facilitate and expedite his 
journey ; and it would be equally foolish and 
impious to believe that any request, offered 
up for that purpose, could be received at the 
throne of Omnipotence. Such petitions are, 
however, sometimes made by unthinking 
mortals. Can presumptuous man persuade 
himself that the Deity would, by a miraculous 
interposition of his power, alter the laws by 
which the universe is governed for the pleasure 
or the conveniency of an insignificant in¬ 
dividual. 

The traveller, indeed, who, in the course 
of a long and troublesome journey, has en¬ 
joyed the advantage of favourable weather, 
may, with propriety, return thanks to the 


406 


Supreme Disposer of all things for the bless¬ 
ing ; but he ought not presumptuously and 
absurdly to imagine that the fineness of the 
season was granted him as a favour at his 
request, or because it suited his conveniency. 
The wind would have blown from the same 
quarter, and the sun would have shined with 
the same brightness if he had stayed at home. 
His journey could never induce the Sovereign 
of the Universe to alter the immutable laws 
of nature : these were fixed from the be¬ 
ginning, and till the end of time will undergo 
no change. The thankfulness of his heart 
ought, therefore, to be excited and directed 
by a sentiment of gratitude to the Almighty 
Disposer, for having, by a wonderful com¬ 
bination of wisdom, power, and goodness, 
arranged the everlasting chain of causes and 
effects, both physical and moral, in such a 
manner, that the moment of his journey and 
the time of a favourable season had so happily 
coincided. 

The prayers which presumptuous mortals 
offer up to the throne of the Divine Majesty, 
are not only often absurd, but sometimes in¬ 
disputably impious. What estimate shall w e 
make of all the prayers that have been 
dictated by superstition, by party spirit, by 
religious enmity, and all the various conten- 


497 


tions that agitate the minds of weak and 
erring mortals; when nations are often 
directed to offer up to the Sovereign Ruler of 
the Universe prayers for the prosperity and 
success of tyrants and usurpers, the desolaters 
of the earth, and butchers of mankind? Will 
the God of Nature, the Universal Parent, the 
benignant Father of Men, look down with a 
smile of compassion, or a frown of indignation 
on those petitions? Will he pity the igno¬ 
rance, spurn the presumption, or despise the 
hypocrisy of the petitioners? 

To suppose that the Deity is a changeable 
and inconstant being, ever disposed to alter 
the laws, and break the chain of causes and 
effects which he has established, is inconsistent 
with every idea that reason and religion en¬ 
able us to form of his wisdom and power. 
When the Omnipotent Architect constructed 
the immense fabric of the universe, he left no 
part defective, and in forming the plan of his 
providential dispensations, he acted with the 
same consummate wisdom. At the same 
moment that he formed the immense machine, 
and put all its wheels in motion, he established 
infallible and invariable laws for its govern¬ 
ment. Between the works of divine and 
human wisdom, this essential and discrimi¬ 
nating dilference exists ; every piece of human 

2k 


408 


mechanism is frequently falling to decay, and 
requires the hand of the workman to repair 
its defects; but the fabric of the Almighty 
Artificer has no need of either repairs or im¬ 
provement, but continues through endless 
ages without alteration or diminution of per¬ 
fection. 

This question might, perhaps, be asked, if 
human prayers can make no alteration in the 
divine will, to what purpose are they offered 
up, and in what manner ought they to be 
presented to the Deity? It may, with un¬ 
questionable propriety, be answered, that 
although it is not to be supposed, that the 
Sovereign of the Universe will, by a miracu¬ 
lous interference, fulfil our requests, or that 
any event will take place as an immediate 
consequence of our prayers, we ought, with 
one of the most profound, as well as the most 
pious philosophers of the last century* to 
believe, that when the Almighty framed the 
universal system of created things, and dis¬ 
posed all in perfect organization, he formed the 
uninterrupted and everlasting chain of causes 
and effects, in exact unison with the wants of 
intelligent beings; and that every prayer and 
every wish that is consistent with the grand 


* M, Euler. 




409 


design of infinite wisdom and goodness, has, 
from the beginning, been heard and en- 
registered in the book of liis eternal pre¬ 
science, and has consequently entered into 
the universal scheme of his providence when 
the harmonious order of things was first 
established. 

Since all the parts of the universe corres¬ 
pond with the most perfect harmony, and dis¬ 
cover a wonderful adaptation to the circum¬ 
stances of human existence, it is evident that 
the Creator has not only considered the wants 
of mankind, but assigned them a conspicuous 
place in his universal plan. It would, indeed, 
be inconsistent with all the analogies that 
philosophy can discover, as well as with the 
doctrines that religion has revealed, to sup¬ 
pose that the Author of Nature, who, in a 
machine so immense, and so infinitely com¬ 
plex, has not left one spring without its 
proper impulse, one wheel without its corres¬ 
pondence with innumerable others, nor for¬ 
gotten to cause the earth to bring forth every 
thing requisite for the support of animal life, 
should have neglected the most important part 
of so grand, so comprehensive, and so benefi¬ 
cent a plan, the accommodation of the material 
creation to the wants of intelligent beings. 
On the contrary, the universal order of things 

2 K 2 


500 


in the physical and moral system, exhibits, 
in the most striking and luminous manner, 
an intimate connexion and exact corres¬ 
pondence between the material and intel¬ 
lectual world. 

The Divine Instructor of men has left us a 
pattern of the perfection of prayer, when ad¬ 
dressing, in the most trying circumstance of 
his life, his petitions to his Heavenly Father, 
he exclaimed, “ not my will but thine be 
done. 55 Human prayers ought ever to be 
offered up with the most perfect resignation 
to the will of him who alone disposes all 
things as he pleases, and with whose provi¬ 
dential disposal all our prayers, and all our 
wishes ought to correspond. Wishes cannot 
be considered as any thing else than prayers, 
if we believe that nothing can happen but by 
the permission of him who regulates all events. 
Our wants stimulate our desires,, of which, 
prayer is nothing more than the expression; 
and every deliberate wish is a real prayer, 
although, perhaps, not offered up to heaven 
with the solemnity of a formal petition. We 
ought, therefore, to consider whether our 
desires as well as our formal prayers be in 
unison with the will of the Sovereign Ruler of 
the Universe, and to form no wish unworthy of 
his regard, nor present any petition unworthy 


501 


of his acceptance. For this reason, it seems 
that a public liturgy is the best expedient 
that could be devised for repressing the vague 
excursions of the mind, and the wanderings of 
inordinate desire, and for preserving a de¬ 
corum of thought as well as of expression, 
when assembled men present their petitions 
before the throne of Omnipotence. 






2 K 3 


502 


• " f . t 

ESSAY XXXIII. 


ON OPTIMISM. 


the doctrine of optimism has been sup¬ 
ported and combated by a multiplicity of 
arguments brought forward by men of dis¬ 
tinguished abilities, as well as unimpeachable 
virtue; and the opposite disputants have 
supported their opinions by very plausible 
reasonings. It seems, however, that this 
problem, like many others, is often misunder¬ 
stood by being considered in a partial and 
contracted view, and the solution frequently 
attempted from superficial reasoning rather 
than profound investigation. The subject 
being vast as creation itself, and comprehend¬ 
ing the whole plan of Nature and of Provi¬ 
dence, it ought to be contemplated in an 
expanded view, and its discussion accommo¬ 
dated to the standard of reason, religion, 
observation, and experience. 

It is not impossible that the disputants on 
this curious and interesting point, notwith¬ 
standing the seeming contrariety of their 
opinions, deviate less from a just medium than 


503 


is commonly supposed, and are nearer to a 
compromise than they themselves imagine. 
The subject has two opposite sides, and two 
different appearances, which, when distinctly 
contemplated, impress on the mind a different 
train of images. 

The advocates for the doctrine of optimism 
reason from philosophical principles, while its 
opponents argue from experience; and both 
parties endeavour to engage religion in their 
cause. Philosophical investigation, however, 
is inadequate to the development of a mystery 
that lies so far beyond the reach of human 
comprehension, as to place the learning of 
the philosopher and the ignorance of the 
peasant nearly on the same level, and to bid 
defiance to all the efforts of the human in¬ 
tellect. As the magnitude and extent of the 
subject transcend the powers of human sa¬ 
gacity and penetration, philosophy, be¬ 
wildered in its researches, is, from a want of 
certainty, obliged to have recourse to a plau¬ 
sible hypothesis, while experience rests on the 
basis of facts, and challenges the most exten¬ 
sive observation to contradict the force of her 
reasonings. 

It is evident, that in this present state of 
human existence, evil, both physical and 
moral, abounds. Whatever is the cause from 

2k4 


504 


whence it originates, or the end for which it 
is permitted, the fact is indisputable. Daily 
experience, multiplied observations, and the 
universal feelings of mankind, impress upon 
every mind a, conviction of this truth too 
strong to be removed by any reasonings of 
philosophy. The point in question is, whether 
all partial and temporary evil be productive 
of universal and final good. The philoso¬ 
phical supporters of the affirmative side of 
the question, found their opinion on this 
grand hypothesis, that of all possible systems, 
Almighty Power, directed by unerring \\ is- 
dom, and actuated by infinite goodness, could 
not fail of cliusing and forming the best. 
In their ordinary mode of application, how¬ 
ever, the argument is no more than plausible, 
but in a more extended view, it carries with 
it so much energy, gives us such exalted 
notions of the wonderful plan of Divine Pro¬ 
vidence, and is so conformable to the ideas, 
that we are accustomed to form of the con¬ 
ceptions and actions of an infinitely good 
and perfect being, that conviction seems to 
force itself on the mind. 

To represent to our imagination a just 
delineation of the case, we must, as far as the 
limited nature of our intellectual faculties 
permit, extend our view to the whole of the 



505 


immense plan, and not confine our thoughts 
and reflections to its diminutive parts. AY e 
must contemplate the universe in its vast im¬ 
mensity. Passing from the contemplation 
of the material to that of the moral and in¬ 
tellectual world, if we observe the wonderful 
harmony that pervades the whole as far as 
our discoveries can reach, and reason from 
analogy concerning the rest, the result of the 
whole will extinguish every doubt of the 
Creator having arranged in the best manner 
possible the universal plan. 

If we consider the matter only in its rela¬ 
tion to this world of ours, this portion of the 
universe which we inhabit, and these scenes 
in which we visibly perceive ourselves en¬ 
gaged, we cannot see any thing to establish 
the doctrine of optimism. The human mind 
might be more perfect, its faculties might be 
more vigorous, and its comprehension more 
extensive. It might have been so constituted 
as to be able at one intuitive glance, to ob¬ 
tain all the knowledge that it can now 
acquire by a long series of painful study, 
and a tedious train of reasoning from com¬ 
parisons, deductions, and inferences. The 
body might also have received a similar in¬ 
crease of perfection, and not have been left 
obnoxious to the inconveniences of heat and 


506 


cold, hunger and thirst, pain and sickness, 
the infirmities of age, and the visitation of 
death. No one can deny that so far as we 
are able to survey this chequered scene, many 
things might, in regard to present good, 
be better arranged, and in a manner more 
conducive to human happiness. Man, even 
in the most exalted station, is liable to a 
variety of calamities which no human pru¬ 
dence can prevent, and of which no human 
courage can repel the attacks. His days are 
few in number, his enjoyments transient, and 
the highest degree of terrestrial happiness to 
which he can ever attain, is embittered with 
the certain prospect of a precarious and short 
duration. In the highest exaltation of earthly 
power and greatness, he cannot avoid the 
painful reflection that the fleeting moments 
of his life are hastening to be lost in endless 
ages. It is, therefore, by extending our views 
beyond the bounds of this terrestrial sphere, 
and the contracted span of mortal existence, 
that we must seek for arguments in favour 
of the system of optimism, not indeed the 
optimism of Pope and Bolingbroke, but the 
optimism of a sounder philosophy, that of 
Christianity. 

In contemplating the immense and in¬ 
comprehensible plan of creation and of pro- 


I 


507 

vidence, we cannot but perceive that all 
things have a visible relation to one another. 
The further we look into the universal system, 
and the more closely we examine its wonder¬ 
ful complexity, the more clearly we perceive 
its various connexions. In the physical world 
we see the earth impregnated with an almost 
endless variety of active qualities which con¬ 
stitute the basis of an infinitely diversified 
vegetation; this, in its turn, is the support 
of animal life, and in the whole system of 
nature nothing stands alone: every thing is 
connected with the immense whole. All we 
see in the moral world, discovers the same 
analogy, and displays the same chain of con¬ 
nexion. 

The degree of perfection to which the ob¬ 
servations and experience of latter times have 
already carried the sciences of natural phi¬ 
losophy and astronomy, is sufficient to demon¬ 
strate and elucidate this universal connexion 
and these multiplied relations, and to give us 
grand and luminous ideas of the harmonious 
system of creation. Future observations and 
improvements, will, undoubtedly, extend the 
sphere of human knowledge; but from what 
is already known, scepticism itself can scarcely 
doubt that all the parts of the physical world 
are mutually dependent and intimately con- 


508 


nected. Our knowledge of the history of 
mankind, displayed in the various revolutions 
of human affairs, and transmitted to us by a 
long series of the records of successive gene ra¬ 
tions, exhibits the same mysterious and 
astonishing concatenation of causes and ef¬ 
fects in the moral system. W hen we con¬ 
template the mechanism of society, the pro¬ 
gress of civilization, and the wonderful revo¬ 
lutions of human ideas as well as of human 
greatness, we cannot but consider the history 
of the world as a series of sacred annals, ex¬ 
hibiting the operations of an All-directing 
Mind, whose unerring Wisdom and All-con¬ 
trolling Power over-rule the actions of man¬ 
kind with the same facility as the motions of 
the heavenly bodies. 

In taking so extensive a survey, it will 
appear less difficult to conceive the compati¬ 
bility of the existence of evil, with the designs 
of infinite goodness, than it appears at the 
first to our feeble comprehension. The punish¬ 
ment of an individual in society will some¬ 
times operate as a warning to thousands, and 
in the universal system of the intellectual 
creation, the vices and follies of the human 
race, with the calamities which they produce, 
may have the same beneficial effect on myriads 
of intelligent beings of a superior class, and 



509 


inhabitantsofother spheres, who may, perhaps^ 
look down on the miseries of mankind as an 
awful example of the dreadful consequences 
following a deviation from those rules which 
infinite wisdom has calculated for the pro¬ 
duction of universal good. 

The existence of evil in this probationary 
state, may also be necessary to convince man¬ 
kind, by fatal experience, of the disorder and 
misery attending a deviation from the path 
of rectitude, and to give the soul additional 
transports of delight, in a future state, by the 
contrast of its pleasures and joys, with the 
afflictions and anxieties of this mortal life, of 
which the mind enlightened, expanded, and 
improved in all its faculties, will undoubtedly 
retain the remembrance. 

It is therefore, in looking beyond this 
transient scene, that we must expect the pro¬ 
duction of universal good from this partial 
evil, the existence of which human reason and 
human feelings will not permit us to call in 
question. In that state, which religion has 
revealed as the completion of our being, we 
shall, undoubtedly, see all seeming discord 
reduced to perfect harmony, and all physical 
and moral evil annihilated. There the wicked 
shall cease from troubling, and the righteous 
shall be at rest. Then we may presume that 



510 


the expanded soul will receive new powers of 
investigation, powers which may enable it to 
contemplate the whole plan of Divine Provi¬ 
dence, and comprehend thedesigns of him who 
is infinite. In this view of things, the doctrine 
of optimism may be fairly established and 
easily understood. Sound philosophy and 
true religion always coincide ; and it is per¬ 
fectly consistent with all the ideas which we 
derive from these two great luminaries of the 
intellectual system, to suppose that infinite 
power, wisdom, and goodness, could not be 
exerted in the work of creation without 
producing the best of all possible systems. 
Nothing else than the greatest possible good 
could be the object of the divine plan, and 
the execution will, in the end, undoubtedly 
correspond with the design. 


511 


ESSAY XXXIV, 


ON THE MANNER IN WHICH NEAR AND RE¬ 
MOTE EXPECTATIONS OPERATE ON THE 
MIND , 

/, • 

If happens, either from the original con¬ 
stitution of the human mind, or from an ac¬ 
quired depravity, that a strange alienation 
from the objects of future hope, and a re¬ 
markable attachment to those of time and 
sense, warp its desires, and determine its in¬ 
clinations in spite of all that reason suggests 
and religion reveals of the futility of the 
latter, and the infinite importance of the 
former. This strange paradox seems difficult 
to explain: it attracts our observation and 
excites our astonishment, but is not easy to 
trace to its original principle. The cause is 
difficult to assign, but the fact is evident. 

If a being of a superior rank, but ignorant 
of the nature, the inclinations and destiny 
of man should descend upon this terrestrial 
globe, and undertake to investigate the cir¬ 
cumstances of human existence by the ex- 


512 


hibition of human conduct, he would certainly 
form a very erroneous jud gment. He would 
never imagine that man is doomed to die, and 
still less that his life is limited to so short a 
space of time ; or if he should happen to be 
informed of the doctrines which religion 
teaches, he would imagine that none of the 
human species attached to them the least 
degree of credibility. On the contrary, when 
he should contemplate the anxious forethought 
and indefatigable exertions of men in regard 
to earthly things, and their earnest solicitude 
to obtain power and accumulate riches, he 
would naturally conclude that this world 
was to be their eternal habitation. All, 
however, are convinced that no human power 
or prudence can prolong the span of mortal 
existence, and that neither crowns nor scep¬ 
tres, nor the greatest accumulation of wealth 
can extend its duration beyond the limits 
assigned by an irrevocable decree. This is 
the language of reason too strongly confirmed 
by universal experience to admit of con¬ 
tradiction or reply ; a fact, indeed, which the 
most extravagant scepticism has never yet 
been so infatuated as to call in question.* To 


* Unless weexcept some romantic philosophers who pretended to 
compound an elixir that would render man immortal. 




513 


this known truth religion adds the assurance 
of a future and more perfect state of existence, 
of an unchangeable nature, and of eternal 
duration, to which the present life is only a 
probationary and preparatory passage. 

If the first of these great truths be so obvious 
as never to have admitted of a doubt in the 
human breast, the latter is so consonant to 
the universal sentiment of mankind, and so 
probable from the sublime nature of the in¬ 
tellectual part of man, from the variety and 
extent of its operations, from its exalted 
views, and its horror of annihilation, that all 
the attempts of infidels have not to this day 
been able to eradicate it from the minds of 
men ; while it is at the same time inculcated 
by a religion that lays claim to divine au¬ 
thority for the authenticity of its evidence, 
and supports that claim by a multifarious 
mass of collateral and circumstantial evidence, 
which no sophistry has ever been able to in¬ 
validate. Notwithstanding the scepticism of 
the present age, the most rational and think¬ 
ing part of the Deists profess the belief of a 
future state of existence, where rewards and 
punishments shall be distributed in just pro¬ 
portion to the different degrees of merit or 
criminality. Of this the generality of Pagans 
had, if not a full conviction, at least a strong 

2 h 


514 


persuasion; and by Christians and Maho¬ 
metans it is acknowledged as one of the 
essential articles of their creed. Is it not 
therefore astonishing that notwithstanding 
the uniformity of this belief, which, next to 
that of a Deity, is the most general ot all 
human opinions, and involves the most im¬ 
portant of all human concerns, the greatest 
part of mankind seem wholly inattentive to 
the consequences of which it exhibits so awful 
a view? Every object, how trivial soever may 
be its nature, how transient soever its dura¬ 
tion, and however uncertain its attainment, 
appears to engross human attention, rather 
than that which is of all others the most 
universally interesting. In contemplating 
the circumstances of man’s existence, might it 
not rather be supposed that this important 
consideration would be the subject of his 
most serious thought, and the ruling motive 
of all his conduct ? 

To assign a cause for this general inattent ion 
to the most w eighty and the most interesting 
of all concerns, has puzzled the researches of 
philosophy, and excited the astonishment of 
thinking men in all ages; but what is still 
more extraordinary, those who have con¬ 
templated this phenomenon with wonder and 
surprise, who have marked its absurdity, at- 


515 


tempted to trace it to its original source, and 
endeavoured to remove this monstrous incon¬ 
sistency of human conduct, have, notwith¬ 
standing their clear perception of its repug¬ 
nance to reason, frequently fallen into the 
same error which they could so readily dis¬ 
cover and censure in others: This shows it to 
be deeply rooted in the human mind. 

Philosophy may attempt to account for 
this deviation from all the rules of reason¬ 
able consistency, from a consideration of the 
immediate and forcible impulse of proximate 
motives, and of the constant contemplation 
of objects which being ever present to the 
mind, and obtruding themselves between it 
and those placed at a distance, obscure the 
view of the latter, and cause them to be 
faintly perceived and little noticed. 

It is, however, easy to prove that this mode 
of accounting for so singular a circumstance 
in the conduct of rational beings is not com¬ 
pletely satisfactory, as the case itself is not 
analogous to the general tenor of human con¬ 
duct in other important matters. If we cast 
our eyes around us upon the moral world, 
and inspect its variegated scenes, we shall 
not discover among men the same indifference 
in regard to future prospects, however re¬ 
mote, when the objects which they display 

2 L 2 


516 


are of a terrestrial nature. In the affairs of 
this life, we see indisputable marks of fore¬ 
thought in almost every important matter. 
The weight of opposite considerations are 
nicely balanced, circumstances accurately dis¬ 
criminated, obstacles carefully removed, diffi¬ 
culties obviated, and consequences investi¬ 
gated with the minutest accuracy: means are 
adapted to ends ; causes and effects are com¬ 
pared: prospects of advantage and of disadn 
vantage are examined with the most punctili¬ 
ous exactnes, and the view is sometimes 
extended far beyond the known limits of 
human life, Cities are built, empires founded, 
and laws instituted for their support in future 
ages. In all these things the views of men 
are extended beyond the present generation, 
and comprise the interests of late posterity. 
Some have, in all ages, it is true, afforded 
examples of a provident case for their eternal 
welfare; but among the great mass of man¬ 
kind we see an almost general neglect, in 
regard to the most important of all concerns, 
in which every individual is equally inte-? 
rested, and must be personally responsible. 

In affairs of worldly interest all the sa-? 
gacity and penetration of which the mind is 
capable is generally employed in forming 
projects likely to be productive of profit and 


517 


advantage; and when the plan is laid, we 
commonly see the same qualities exerted in 
the execution: all exhibits a scene of thought 
as well as of action. An impartial view of 
human conduct will oblige us to confess that 
little of this energy is discovered in what re¬ 
lates to a future state of existence. Men are 
continually forming plans for their own future 
prosperity or the advancement of their 
families, but few pay any serious regard to 
the preparatory steps necessary to secure 
their happiness in a country that is destined 
to be their everlasting abode; and although 
they are theoretically convinced of the insig¬ 
nificancy of all earthly power, wealth, and 
grandeur, when put in the scale of comparison 
with the things of eternity, they seem to act 
in a manner diametrically opposite to this 
conviction. This is a paradox in the history 
of the human mind which has been observed 
in all ages, and of which the solution bids 
defiance to the researches of philosophy. 

If it could be proved that all, or the great¬ 
est part of those who pay so little attention to 
the concerns of a future state, had only a 
wavering belief of its existence, there would 
be no difficulty in ascribing this supineness 
to its true cause. But it is evident that this 
is not the case; for many, who seem the most 


inattentive to eternal things, are very far from 
being sceptics, and never once entertained a 
doubt concerning the existence of a future 
state, where a just remuneration of human 
conduct shall take place. This inconsistency 
of conduct, with conviction, plainly indicates 
the depravity of human nature. 

This strange moral phenomenon seems 
principally to arise from the disproportion 
between the objects proposed to our contem¬ 
plation, and the limited powers of the human 
mind at present involved in a labyrinth of the 
objects of time and sense, which render it 
incapable of fixing its attention on those of 
an intellectual nature. In the w hole economy 
of the moral w orld, we may perceive that the 
attention of the greatest part of mankind is 
forcibly drawn towards sensible objects by 
the pressure of the most urgent wants, and 
that even those w hose pursuits appear of a 
nature more intellectual, are generally at¬ 
tached to them on account of their near re¬ 
lation to things of a temporal nature. Arts, 
sciences, and letters, are studied chiefly as 
the means of acquiring power, wealth, or 
fame. 

If religion instructed men in the art of 
getting money, and promised abundant wealth 
as the reward of virtue, with what eagerness 


519 


would every one seek to be acquainted with 
her doctrines, with what scrupulosity would 
her dictates be obeyed, how her temples would 
be crowded, her altars surrounded with vo¬ 
taries, with what sincere devotion would the 
golden image be worshipped; every lesson of 
instruction would make a durable impression, 
opinion would be seen to regulate conduct, 
and belief would no longer be contradicted 
by practice. 

W hen a prospect is held out to our intel¬ 
lectual view, in comparison of which all ter¬ 
restrial acquisitions dwindle into insignifi¬ 
cancy, it is certainly the extreme of human 
frenzy to be inattentive to the magnificent 
recompence offered to a life of virtue, especi¬ 
ally when contrasted with the punishments 
denounced against vice. Reason would sup¬ 
pose that these considerations would always 
be present to the minds of men, and detach 
them from an inordinate bias to tilings which 
they know that they must soon leave, and 
which, however necessary in the present state 
of existence, ought to be no more than 
secondary objects of human attention. 

If the life of man were at present as long as 
that of the antediluvians, and every one after 
having lived in his own country, and at his 
own pleasure, some eighty, some sixty, and 


520 


some a much less number of years, should, by 
some irresistible force, be conveyed to a far 
distant region from whence none ever re¬ 
turned, and if uniform experience had de-> 
monstrated that this event must happen to all 
at some unforeseen period, would not every 
one be busily employed in forming conjectures 
on tliat fate which so visibly awaited all, on 
the nature of that country to which all must 
go, and on the treatment which they were 
likely to find? This was precisely the case of 
the philosophers of antiquity; destitute of 
revelation, they had only conjecture for their 
guide. If, however, some superior being 
should come with the important information 
that men were destined to spend in that 
country the remainder of a long life of seven or 
eight hundred years, we should be ready to 
imagine tliat their thoughts would be more 
fixed on that country whither they were 
destined to go, and in which they were to 
reside so long than on that which they were 
doomed so soon to leave. If this great in- 
structor should, besides all this, lay dow r n 
rules for their conduct during their stay here, 
and assure them that their happiness or misery, 
during a life of so many years to be spent, in 
the distant region to which they were shortly 
to go. depended solely on their observance or 


521 




neglect of these precepts, we can hardly sup~ 
pose bat their conduct would be conformable 
to the important directions received from so 
high authority. We may presume that their 
minds would be immovably fixed on the place 
of their destination, that every consideration 
which tended to draw their thoughts from 
this grand object would be disregarded, that 
every acquisition which must be left so soon 
would be little esteemed, and lhat all their 
views would tend to s- cure a favourable re¬ 
ception in the country where they were 
doomed to spend so many years of happiness 
or misery. Christians are placed in this pre¬ 
dicament: they have received from divine 
authority this information of their future 
destiny, and those rules for the regulation of 
their conduct in their temporary abode. Be¬ 
tween their practice and that supposed in the 
comparison, impartial observation, however, 
can discover no analogy, nor can philosophy 
account, in a satisfactory manner, for the 
difference. The problem, therefore, can be 
solved only by the superior light of divine 
revelation. 


FINIS. 
















* V-. 






















. 















■ 

, 




- 














• • • ' 

































. 



























































































































































































s 


































